


Hitchin' a Ride Home

by meega



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist Clarke, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's not all sad, Jelous Lexa, Physical Abuse, Punk Lexa, Slow Burn, eventual clexa, i think??? not sure on that one, it's gonna be a long fic so there'll be everything at some point, trigger warning: alcohol abuse, trigger warning: parental abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meega/pseuds/meega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke loves her mother. She really does. But, since the death of her father, there hasn't been a moment between the two of them that hasn't ended in heated arguments and slammed doors. She doesn't know what to do, but she know she has to do something, or else she'll go crazy.</p><p>Lexa loves her father. She really does. But the divorce has left him unrecognizable, and her mother's as oblivious as ever. There's nothing she can do but endure. She's good at it, though, and Costia helps, she always has. But everything changes when Costia dies. Now, the only relief in her life, the only good thing, is gone. She doesn't know what to do, but she know she has to do something, before it all ends in disaster.</p><p>The solution comes in the form of a soccer ball to the face, literally.<br/>When they truly meet and get to know each other, hope sparks. Let's just hope this flame doesn't go out before they've reached their destiny.</p><p>---<br/>Clexa Runaways AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Drop-Ship Café

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Suggestions of Parental Abuse

**Thursday the 2 nd of October, 06:49 PM. Washington D.C.**

  
Clarke's eyes sting with angry tears she's resolved in not showing.

She shuts her eyes tight and runs up the stairs. Slamming her room's door as hard as she can, she can still hear her mother’s yelling. She manages to lock the door just as she hears the older woman running up the stairs after her, ready to continue their argument.

Well, Clarke has other plans.

She picks up her old Denim Jacket from the back of her chair, her sketch book, and her favorite pencil, and heads for the window.

She opens it and climbs out.

As she feels the cold wind of the early October afternoon nip at her cheeks and nose, she finally lets loose the tears she was holding back. They roll down her cheeks as if they were rivers held back by a dam that finally broke. A sour taste fills the back of her throat as it clenches. She can't help but sob loudly a few times before she gets herself under control and wipes the tears off her face with the back of her hand.

The sound of her mother on the other side of the door, knocking violently and yelling at the same time reaches her ears. Good, that means she didn't hear Clarke's loud sobs. To be completely honest, she'd rather die before giving her mother the satisfaction of knowing she got to her.

But, instead of staying there and continue listening to her mother’s endless screams, she looks down at the roof under her feet and sighs. She starts down the familiar path across the roof of the garage and to the big, old apple tree from which she climbs down. She wipes her hands on her trousers before looking around, making sure nobody saw her sneak out. Then, she proceeds to make her way down the street and towards the only place she can find peace nowadays.

***

**Thursday the 2 nd of October, 07:34 PM. Washington D.C.**

She crosses the crowded street and pulls open the heavy oak door of the café. By now, she's shivering in the cold of the evening so she smiles as she feels the warm, sweet scented air that hits her. As she enters, she waves at Jasper who is standing behind the counter and looks around. Neither Raven, Bellamy, nor Octavia are there but Clarke doesn’t mind. She picks a sofa that's empty and sits down.

As soon as she opens her sketch book Monty appears to take her order.

"The usual Clarke?" He asks, smiling.

"Yeah, thanks Monty" she answers, not able to return his smile as she replays the argument with her mother in her head yet one more time.

Monty lingers a little before nodding, heading back to the counter, and passing Clarke's order to Jasper. She's grateful Monty didn’t comment on the state her eyes must be in, probably all puffy and red.

But Clarke hears her mother's voice in her head one more time and she’s forgotten about the matter. She can’t remember over what the fight had started but she remembers very clearly how it evolved, centering once again over the same topics; the future, college, art or medicine, ideals, attitude, and all the things Abby tries so hard to change about Clarke. But she doesn’t get it, does she? This is who Clarke is, and she likes who she is, she likes herself. Why would her mother of all people try to change her? Why can’t she understand?

_Dad would have understood_ , a small voice in the back of her head whispers. Clarke closes her eyes, the memory still too fresh and painful to be bearable.

_But he is gone_ , she thinks dryly, trying to contain the wave of emotions that’s threatening to explode.

And since he left, everything in the Griffin household has gone to hell. She can’t speak a word without it all crashing down into an argument that ends up with Clarke slamming her room's door in her mother's face and climbing down her window to end up in the Drop-ship Café.

It’s become almost a routine.

A routine Clarke despises, but can’t help follow.

She wishes she could go back to the simpler times, when her dad was still alive and her mother and herself would welcome him from work with a large peperoni pizza and a couple of rented movies. She missed the times he would tuck her in at night and promise all the monsters in her closet where too afraid of her to come out. She wanted to go back and live in the memories.

"Here you go" Monty’s voice brings Clarke back to reality as he places the smoking hot cup of coffee in the low table in front of her, with a small croissant beside it.

"Thanks Monty" she says and tries to smile. It comes out kind of crooked. Nevertheless, Monty, good ole sweet Monty, ignores it and smiles again, squeezing her shoulder before walking back to the counter.

Clarke sighs and looks down at her sketch book, remembering the reason she brought it with her in the first place. She picks up her pencil and starts doodling. Her first drawing is of Monty and Jasper chatting over the counter. She focuses on their postures, how Monty’s got his elbows propped on top of the dark wood with his head resting on his knuckles. How Jasper’s leaning back slightly, a cloth in his hands and his characteristic smirk planted on his face.

Then she draws a small boy who's sitting in a table close to her, playing with a couple of plastic dinosaurs, how his face is contorted in the most focused look she has ever seen since Monroe beat Jasper at a pie eating competition two years ago.

She sips her coffee a couple of times between drawings and bites at her croissant, though she’s not really hungry.

She’s giving the little kid a couple of final touches when the door to the coffee shop opens and a group of teenagers comes in. She recognizes them immediately. They attend her high school and she's bumped into them at a couple of parties during summer break and on the weekends she’s managed to avoid her school work.

Anya, Nyko, Lincoln, and Echo.

She tries searching the group, looking for a certain tall and lean brunette, but doesn’t find her. Lincoln catches her eye and smiles as they approach a table and Clarke smiles back before looking down at her sketch book, a tad embarrassed that he caught her staring. She turns the page and starts a new sketch, this one of the old man sitting at the end of the coffee shop, near the window. The group settles on a table behind her and Monty takes their order. It’s rather odd seeing them out and about without their tall, proud leader but, once Monty asks about it, they answer with an angry 'it’s none of your business' and 'she was busy'.

Clarke is about halfway with her sketch when her phone vibrates. She takes it out and sees in the screen her mom's name. She locks it and pockets it without a second glaze, irritation bubbling inside her once more.

Clarke feels angry.

Angry at herself for screaming so much at her mother and angry at her mother for being so damn controlling and overprotective.

She's so done with her that she just can’t wait for the next summer when she is finally going off to college. At this point, she doesn’t even care what she's going to study, be it medicine or arts or even fucking law, as long as it's the longest way away from home as possible. She's even thinking about applying to some colleges in England.

That desperate she is about getting away.

Suddenly, a discussion she had at a party last week comes back to her.  
  
_If you can’t stand her, then you should just run away, Clarke._  
  
Run away. Clarke couldn’t deny she hadn’t thought about it, late at night, lying on her bed after crying her eyes out because of another argument. But she knew she would never make it on her own.  
__  
You don’t need to be on your own, someone could go with you.  
  
Lexa's voice comes to her, as if the idea was so simple and straight forward as it sounded to be. Of course her mind had immediately jumped in with all the problems and flaws of a plan like that. What about College? Food? Shelter? Her mother would probably call the police, then what? No, the idea wasn’t even as remotely simple as Lexa painted it to be with her smooth, calm voice.

Clarke couldn’t even remember how they had ended up talking about the subject. All that she remembers is having screamed at her mother one evening and then ran to Octavia's house. There, Octavia had suggested going to a party where Clarke got so drunk she couldn’t even remember going back to Octavia's and sleeping over. She remembers bits and pieces of what Lexa said but she is sure the other girl had been drunk too, because in no other way would she have given Clarke advise like that. Lexa was the captain of the football team, she was top of the class in almost every subject and vice president of the student body. She had run against Clarke for student body president, but Clarke had beaten her. She doubted a girl like her would ever suggest running away. She was too responsible and cared too much for the people under her command, even if she wouldn’t admit it, just like Clarke did.

Yet Clarke remembers clearly hearing Lexa say the words. Her voice had been kind, not the usual neutral and mildly challenging tone, and she had even listened to Clarke drunkly rant about her mom. The Lexa she knew would have walked away after a polite "Hello Clarke".  
  
Clarke continues pondering over the subject for the rest of the evening as she sketches the rest of the clientele of the café. At around midnight, just as Jasper's closing, Clarke decides it's time to go back home.

When she gets there, a few minutes passed one, she finds her mom asleep on the Livingroom couch, curled around one of her dad's old sweaters.

***

**Thursday the 2 nd of October, 06:23 PM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa regrets yelling. She regrets slamming the door and getting on her old Camaro, the one Lincoln and her had re-built the year before, and she regrets driving away, leaving her dad standing on the front yard, screaming for her to come back, or else.

Or else.

It was always ‘or else’.

He never got to say what her punishment would be because Lexa always drove away before he could say it. Of course she got to experience the 'or else' once she got back home, or the next day.

The 'or else' normally being extra hours at the restaurant, or cleaning the house, or washing the car, or… well, Lexa doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

Lexa understands him, of course, she knows what he’s been through, and she knows she shouldn’t mess with him or get him worked up like that. But that doesn’t stop her from yelling at him or disobeying him. She tries, she really does, but she can’t help it.

She can’t help hurting him because almost everything she says or does hurts him. Even seeing her face hurts him. Because she makes him remember, and all he ever wants is to forget.

And she can’t help it because she gets frustrated, and angry. And sometimes she just explodes.

She can’t help it.

She’s just a teenager after all.

And despite everything he has done to her, she still loves him. It’s her dad, after all, not some man she just happens to live with. She loves him just like a daughter is supposed to love her father. It’s her job, it’s her duty as his daughter, even if it’s hard, almost impossible, at times.

Lexa passes one hand through her hair, trying to comb it back, and rolls down the window, feeling the cold evening air dig into her exposed skin and calm her racing heart.

She’s thought about telling someone about him, of course, her mother, Lincoln, Gustus, Indra. But he always seems to find out before and stops her. The few time’s she’s tried have all ended in disaster. And of course, what kind of daughter would surrender her own father to the police? No, the police is not an option. What kind of person would betray her own blood like that? It’s not worth it. She can take it.

She drives and drives until she can’t see anymore. Then she turns on the lights of the car and drives some more.

At some point she hears her phone vibrate but she ignores it, turning it off, and continues driving.

There’s another alternative, though. One she’s thought about innumerable times. It’s plagued her dreams and she’s even wished for the courage to make it happen when she would blow her birthday candles. But it’s much more dangerous than any other. She could never do it. It would never work out. Unless… no, she can’t do it. She just can’t. It’s too dangerous, and even if she could convince someone to go with her…no, it would be too dangerous, not just for herself but for whomever got dragged into this mess. Her father could catch up with them and then it would be her fault, anything that could happen would be her fault. It’s not worth it. It’s a stupid idea.

At around half passed midnight she decides to take one last drive around town before going back home, her gas needle dropping near the empty side. She passes by the Drop-ship Café and thinks about stopping, trying to delay, as most she can, going home, but finds it closed.

She continues down the road until she spots a tall blonde walking alone on the sidewalk, her head down and a sketch book on her hand. Lexa recognizes her immediately.

She's about to stop and offer her a ride when she notices the silent tears rolling down the other girl's pail cheeks. She swallows, not sure what to do. She doesn’t know if Clarke would appreciate being spotted crying. By a girl she barely knows.

If the roles where inversed, Lexa would probably scream at Clarke.

So, she lightly presses down the accelerator and drives by, regret and guilt pulsing down on her belly. She’s a coward and she knows it. She can’t even help a girl she knows, how could she ever run away from home? From her father?

When she finally gets home she finds her dad sleeping, or rather passed out, on the living room's couch. She silently places a blanket over him and goes to bed.


	2. The Soccer Ball Incident

**Friday the 3 rd of October, 07:32 AM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke hears her mom walking around downstairs and takes a deep breath, calming herself, getting her act together. She wonders for a moment when this started. Having to cool herself before facing her own mother. Having to empty her mind of all the things they have ever fought about just so she can look at her in the eyes and say something as simple as ‘Good morning, mom’.

She sighs, shaking her head, and walks downstairs into the kitchen.

Abby is sitting on the table when she enters. She’s reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. Clarke silently walks to the counter and pours herself a cup. She stares at her mother who hasn’t lowered the paper or looked at her even once.

Clarke clears her throat once her coffee’s done and, finally, Abby looks up “Oh Clarke, You’re up, how did you sleep?” She asks, her voice as normal as ever.

Clarke’s about to let all the bottled-up anger from yesterday just spill out as she opens her mouth to speak, but she manages to contain it and say instead “Good morning, mom” the prepared words falling off her tongue harshly. She can even feel the tension starting to form in the small room.

_Yes, good, that didn’t sound the slightest bit sarcastic now, did it?_

Her mother smiles at her though, ignoring Clarke’s tone, and responds “Well good morning to you too, honey”

Then, she goes back to her newspaper.

Clarke sighs, defeated, and finishes her coffee. She’s about to leave the kitchen when her mother finally speaks again,  “You should probably ask Raven to drive you to school today, its freezing cold out there”

Clarke turns and says “Okay”

She feels the tension in the room crushing her, begging for her to run and leave as soon as possible.

But Abby just nods, smiling again. Clarke nods back at her and leaves.

She sighs, feeling all the pent-up tension dissolving, and picks up her jacket and her backpack at the receiver before opening the front door. She steps out into the cold air and notices the clouds in the sky, all grey and puffy, like they could drop a tempest at any time soon. She adjusts her jacket around her more tightly and looks for her phone. Once she finds it, Clarke dials Raven’s number and waits.

Raven answers after a few rings.

“Hey girl, what’s up?” asks Raven, her voice sleepy over the phone.

“Can you come pick me up? I don’t think I’ll make it alive between here and the school in this weather”

“No probs Clarke. Be there in five, gotta pick up O first” Raven hangs up and Clarke puts away her phone. She steps out of her porch and into the sidewalk and, soon enough, she sees Raven’s car turning at the end of her street.

“Hey Popsicle, get in” Calls Octavia from the backseat, through the rolled-down window. Clarke pulls open the shotgun door and climbs inside the small Beetle. The warmth of the conditioning air hits Clarke full force and she rubs her hands together.

Raven and Octavia laugh as Raven starts the car.

***

**Friday the 3 rd of October, 04:42 PM. Washington D.C.**

School’s already over and Clarke’s sitting quietly on the bleachers overlooking the soccer pitch. The female soccer team’s having practice right now and she’s waiting for Octavia. They have a concert to go to afterwards, along with Lincoln who’s somewhere inside the main building finishing his woodshop project.

She’s been drawing the scenery for the past half-hour or so, and now, since she’s already drawn everything in sight, Clarke decides to start drawing the players running around the field. It’ll serve for human form drawing practice. She starts with Octavia, her features coming easily and fast, her hands already knowing where to draw each line and shade. She must have drawn her friend about a million times before.

She’s finished with her quickly, and moves on to the goalkeeper, a short, lean, ginger with small, almond eyes. This one’s trickier since her hair’s a fuzzy cloud around her head. But it’s different, and Clarke’s always liked a little challenge. It takes her about ten to twenty minutes more that it took her with Octavia but finally, she’s done.

After her, she draws the left wing, a tall, dark-skinned girl with beautiful, round, fierce eyes whose name Clarke is pretty sure is Sophie. She’s fast and agile, skimming through the rest of her team and stealing the ball in the most random moments. She must be one of the best players in the team.

Once she finishes with Sophie, Clarke’s eyes wonder over to the Center forward, her long, auburn hair flowing down her back in puffy curls, her lean muscles flexing as she runs, kicking the ball forward, and making her way towards the goal. She manages to dodge the defense and is about to kick for the goal when Coach Miller blows his whistle. Lexa stops abruptly and pouts, though it lasts only a second before her neutral expression is back and she walks with the rest of the team towards the Coach who’s explaining something Clarke can’t quite hear.

Suddenly a crackling sound pulls her eyes away from the other girl and makes her looks up. The clouds are getting darker and darker by the minute and Clarke suddenly fears Octavia’s practice might get cancelled at any moment. She shivers a little and pulls her jacket closer around herself. _Please don’t let the concert be cancelled too._

Clarke lets her eyes roam the field again and sees that the girls there have all sat down and are drinking some water. Re-hydration break.

Clarke eyes find Lexa again, sitting on the grass, Anya beside her, before she even knows they were looking for her. The two girls, both’ve got bottles in their hands and are sipping them while they chat. Lexa’s shirt is clinging to her body and sweat beads her forehead. Clarke notices how her neck muscles contract when she drinks her water, how her arm’s toned muscles flex every time she raises the bottle to her puffy, red, lips.

She looks away, blushing slightly.

And decides to draw her.

***

She’s finishing a few small touches to the drawing – which took way more time than Clarke would like to admit, but she just couldn’t get the way she half-smiled quite right – when Coach Miller blows his whistle again and all the players stand up and go back to the game.

Clarke looks up at the clouds for the fifth time and sighs. She suddenly wishes she had her watercolors so she could paint them, the different greys, and the shadows, and all the different whites and–

Something hits her face, hard, and makes her loose her balance, falling back, her head knocking against the stand behind her. Clarke groans, pain exploding in the back of her head. She reaches up and rubs the spot where the _thing_ hit her. After a moment of pure confusion, she pushes herself of the stand with her hand. Her head’s spinning like crazy as she looks around and sees all the players on the field, as blurry as they are, looking at her, some holding back laughter, most looking concerned.

She sees Octavia standing on the far side of the field, laughing her ass off, clutching at her stomach and all.

Then, she sees Lexa, jogging lightly towards her, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. Her eyes are almost as stormy as the clouds overhead, their strange green-grey color makes Clarke wish she had her watercolors here, too.

“Are you alright, Clarke?” asks Lexa once she’s closer. She breathing slightly hard, but her voice sounds weird.

She reaches forward, as if she wants to touch the other girl, but pulls back. Clarke feels her head pulsing and can hear a loud thudding in her ears, though she’s not sure whether that’s from the hit she got to the head or from the way her heart started racing when she saw Lexa coming over, her concerned eyes, their intensity and warmth, centered on herself.

“Yeah” she says, nodding. Suddenly she feels pain shooting from her head again and winces “No” she admits.

“Let me take you to the infirmary” says Lexa immediately, her brows furrowing even closer together.

“I’m fine” Clarke insists. She can see Lexa opening her mouth to protest but she’s cut off by Coach Miller appearing behind her.

“Hey, what happened?” he asks, crouching beside Clarke.

“She got hit in the head Coach, I should take her to see the nurse” says Lexa.

“I don’t need to see the nurse” counters Clarke stubbornly “I’m fine”

“Hmmm” says the Coach thoughtfully, looking into Clarke’s eyes as if he had a way of seeing into her head and knowing if something had happened in there “You could have a concussion, Lexa’s right”

Clarke can see a small, smug smile appear on Lexa’s face before it disappears and she offers Clarke her hand.

Clarke reluctantly takes it and rises and, as she does so, feels a wave of dizziness and pain immediately shoot from her head. Her legs suddenly feel wiggly and weak under her, she’s afraid she might fall, but Lexa grips her arm with her other hand and supports her. Clarke feels her sketching book fall from her hands as black spots dance in front of her eyes. She clutches to Lexa’s arm as if her life depended on it until the spots vanish.

She, then, sees Lexa disappear from her field of view for a moment to later reappear with her backpack and sketchbook in hand. She also hears Coach Miller dismissing the rest of the team, since a few rain drops have started falling, but Clarke doesn’t pay much attention, most of her focus turned to her stomach and trying to keep its contents inside rather than outside.

Lexa puts an arm around her waist protectively and guides her out of the soccer pitch and towards the nurse’s office, once Clarke’s stomach settles.

Everything Clarke remembers about the trip is the warm feeling of Lexa’s body against hers and the pounding of her head.

***

The nurse opens the door and lets them in asking what happened.

“I hit her with a soccer ball” mutters Lexa quietly, looking down.

The nurse takes Clarke away from Lexa – all this helping her walk starts making Clarke angry that they don’t think she can walk on her own – and guides her to the bed. The absence of Lexa’s warmth makes Clarke feel cold again.

She sits down, her feet dangling over the edge of the unusually tall bed, or was it a gurney? Lexa sits on the small chair beside the bed. Clarke’s sketch book is still on her hands, and Clarke remembers, with a shudder, the last drawing she made. She feels her cheek reddening and hopes Lexa can’t see them, and that she doesn’t think about looking down, where the book’s still open to the page of the drawing.

“Okay, look into the light” instructs the nurse, coming closer with a small flashlight on her hands. She flashes it in front of Clarke’s eyes. After a few instructions of looking one way and the other, the nurse clears her throat and says “You’re okay, no concussion, but you should rest. And you should definitely do it now, so why don’t you call your mom or dad so they can pick you up?”

Clarke’s throat tightens, her hands clenching the bed sheets. She doesn’t feel like seeing her mom, not now. And, of course, Abby would have to leave the hospital to drive her home, so then she’d be in a bad mood for having to re-schedule her surgeries and whatnot.

“I can drive you” says Lexa standing up suddenly. Clarke sighs, letting out the breath she was holding, and unclenches her hands. She feels so grateful for Lexa right now that she could hug her.

_Hmmm, hugging Lexa, not a bad idea._

_Wait, what?_

“Okay then, it’s settled. You can go now” says the nurse “And be careful not to slip in any puddles”

The nurse nods to Lexa and then turns to her desk, sitting down and starting to write some stuff down on one of the multiple papers on her table.

Lexa offers her hand again and Clarke takes it, feeling a buzz in her fingertips as they lock around Lexa’s.

As she’s standing up, the door to the infirmary bursts open and Octavia steps in, out of breath and eyes wide.

“Clarke” she says and, as her eyes find her, she starts walking to her and hugs her tight.

“Coach wouldn’t let me come see you until I was changed” she explains, burying her face on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke hugs her back, unsure why Octavia is so worried about her. After all, it is just a bump on the head.

“Sorry for laughing” she murmurs “I hadn’t realized you’d hit your big ‘ole head in the bleachers”

“I’m Okay O” chuckles Clarke as Octavia releases her. Octavia searches her face for any sign of a lie and then says “No concussion?”

“Nope”

“Nothing else? No brain damage? Stroke? Cracked skull?”

“No O, I’m fine, believe me” says Clarke sighing, a small smile curling up her lips.

Octavia, still not convinced, turns to Lexa “Is she lying?”

“No” says Lexa, and then adds “The nurse just said she should rest”

“Okay” Octavia turns to the door where, just now does Clarke realize, Lincoln is standing “Could we drop Clarke at her house before heading to the concert?” Then she turns to Clarke “‘Cause you’re in no way fit to go to a concert, sorry”

“No” says Clarke immediately, frustrated at the need of everyone else to take care of her. She is fine, she doesn’t need anybody to look after her, dammit. She isn’t feeling like being the third wheel on their concert-date anymore either, no matter how good the band is. She just wants to go home and lay in bed for a while.

Lincoln scrunches his eyebrows together, considering how much time it would take for them to drop her off, but Clarke interrupts him, repeating “No”

“We could–”

“No! I don’t need you to take care of me Octavia, I’m fine” says Clarke, exasperated. So much discussion is making her head dizzy again.

Octavia is about to protest when Lexa cuts her off, stepping forward with Clarke’s backpack back over her shoulder and the sketchbook in her hands “I can take Clarke home, you two needn’t worry”

She carries so much authority that, for a moment, neither Octavia nor Lincoln say anything. Clarke studies how her piercing eyes glare at them, daring them to question her.

Octavia sighs and says “Okay, take care of her Commander” she walks forward and hugs Clarke again. Then, she turns and heads out with Lincoln in tow, only after he waves them both goodbye.

“Shall we?” asks Lexa, her stare turned to Clarke, now strangely soft, compared to a few seconds ago.

“Sure”

They both walk out and head for the changing rooms, since Lexa’s still in her football gear.

Lexa opens the door and lets Clarke go in first. The room’s warm, air conditioning going on full blast. The faded smell of deodorant still lingers on the air, along with the slightly fainter smell of dirty socks and mud. Clarke surveys the room and notices the only locker with a bag still in it is Lexa’s.

“It’ll just be a minute” she says, dropping Clarke’s backpack on the bench along with the sketch book. Then she picks her bag and heads for the showers at the end of the room. Clarke busies herself with putting away her sketch book in her pack, trying not to look over to where Lexa is probably undressing herself.

Clarke hears the shower turning on and waits.

Lexa comes out a few minutes later, her hair down and wet, tumbling over her shoulders, and wearing a black leather jacket, a pair of ripped, skinny jeans, and combat boots. _She really does know how to look badass._

“Ready?” asks Clarke, standing up. The pain in her head has subsided to a faint throb and now she doesn’t even get dizzy doing so.

Lexa nods, her bag slung over her shoulder, and picks Clarke’s backpack. But, before she can throw it over her other shoulder, Clarke stops her, a hand over the one gripping the strap.

“I can take my own backpack, thank you” she says “I may have bumped my head, but that doesn’t make me an invalid”

Lexa blushes slightly, looking down and giving her shoes one of her characteristic half-smiles. She nods and hands it to her. The both leave the changing room and head for the school’s exit.

***

It’s raining heavily now, and the trip to the Camaro, parked in the middle of the now lonely parking lot, seems longer than usual.

“We can run” suggests Clarke shrugging. Lexa shakes her head.

“No, you could slip and fall, and hurt your head again”

Clarke narrows her eyes at her and, as Lexa notices her, she adds “I promised Octavia. I keep my promises”

“Okay, then how do you suggest we do this?”

Lexa reaches into her bag and takes out a green hoodie. The school’s soccer team’s green hoodie, to be exact.

“Put this over your head” she says. Clarke obeys, pulling the thick hoodie over her head. It smells weirdly, like a mixture of burning firewood and deodorant. Lexa pulls up her jacket’s neck and opens the door. Clarke raises an eyebrow at her but she only shrugs “My hair’s already wet” she explains.

They walk briskly towards the car. The cold rain hitting Clarke’s head but only managing to get the hoddie wet, nothing more, though the cold air still chills her to her bones. She should have really brought a parka to school, or a leather jacket like Lexa.

Finally, they reach the car and Clarke climbs in, throwing her backpack on the backseat and rubbing her hands together.

Lexa closes her door and turns the key on the ignition, turning the air conditioning on maximum as soon as she can. They pull out of the parking lot and drive through the streets in silence, trying to get warmth back to their bodies. The car smells of a mixture of old leather, motor oil, and coffee, which makes Clarke smile.

“I liked that drawing you did” says Lexa after some time, breaking the silence.

Clarke feels herself go red and can see Lexa’s cheeks are a bit tainted too. Of all the things she could have said, Lexa had to go and say the one thing that would get Clarke as red as a tomato. At least now she didn’t have to rub her hands together anymore, the embarrassment had warmed her right up.

“Thanks” She says, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re really good” continues Lexa. She turns to her briefly, taking her intense green-grey eyes off the road for a second before looking back, a sort of bashful look in her face “very talented”

Clarke smiles and feels her heart quicken. She turns to her side window, watching the rain fall, hearing it hit the roof of the car as they race down the road.

“Thanks” she says again “I really like drawing, it relaxes me”

“I’ve never seen any of your drawings up in the Art Board, I didn’t know you were so good”

The Art Board is this board in the middle of the cafeteria where the art teacher puts up the best pieces of the month. He had asked Clarke to put up almost half of the stuff she had done up to this point, but she always said no.

“I- I don’t really like showing people”

“Oh”

“It’s more of a hobby”

“Is that what you’re going to do when you graduate?”

Clarke thinks about it for a moment, feeling her insides clench at the thought of the future, and says “I don’t know yet”

Lexa stays silent after that.

A couple of minutes later, a though that has been nagging at Clarke’s mind since she remembered it yesterday, now finally wins over her and she asks “Hey Lexa, remember that party about two weeks ago?”

She hasn’t been able to drop the subject since yesterday’s afternoon. She’s been thinking about it constantly and even found herself making up hypothetical plans, seeing what she would take and were she would go.

Lexa turns to her, briefly, with a curious look in her eyes “Yes”

“You said something about–”

“–Running away” finishes Lexa for her. Her voice, again, sounds strange. Clarke can’t quite put her finger on what’s different.

She’s surprised Lexa even remembers, though. But she nods slowly, still turned to the window.

***

Lexa looks back at Clarke, her heart speeding up when Clarke mentions their conversation at the party. She’s surprised Clarke remembers it, after all the beer Lexa had seen her down that night.

“Yeah” says Clarke, looking back at her once she realizes Lexa isn’t talking. Lexa can’t help but turn her eyes away from the darkening road to looks at Clarke’s icy blue eyes once she notices the movement, if only just to make sure she’s not joking. She can almost see how the wheels turn behind them, Clarke’s mind going 100 km/h as it always does. The quickest thinker Lexa has ever known. Even quicker than herself.

“Are you thinking about running away?” she asks, her voice slightly teasing, maybe meaning it as a joke, though a small part of her wants Clarke to say yes, is desperate for her to say yes.

Cause maybe with Clarke… maybe they could make it, together. After all Clarke’s the smartest girl she knows, and the most accepting and understanding. She’d be the ideal partner. Practical, critical thinker, resourceful, kind. And of course, there’s the fact that every time those icy-blue eyes look at her, her heart starts tap dancing like crazy. She barely even knows her, but she’s already developed feelings for her. Feeling she wasn’t supposed to feel for someone, not anymore. It was dangerous, it was foolish, it was weakness.

Weakness she cannot afford, not again.

But still…

“Kind of” says Clarke a strange sincerity coating her words and interrupting Lexa’s thoughts, making her heart beat a little faster than before “I don’t know. I could never do it though, not really. But the idea just sounds so… appealing, right?”

Lexa nods, knowing exactly what Clarke feels. The fear and the longing, fear of getting stuck, longing for something… better, both mixed together in a strange dance inside her chest, never still, always moving, changing, hoping, aching.

“But I couldn’t, I mean, there’s school and family and friends, and my whole life’s here” She continues ranting, her stare lost out the window again and her hand absentmindedly tugging at the hem of Lexa’s hoodie.

Clarke continues talking and Lexa lets her, listens, and nods every once in a while. She can feel Clarke relaxing with every word that leaves her mouth. She listens as the other girl speaks of everything and nothing, of her mother, mainly, and of school, of her friends, of all the things that just aren’t right with the world they live in.

The only subject she stops on, and stumbles through the words, and cuts herself mid-sentence, is when Lexa asks about her father, but Lexa doesn’t push, she knows the story, after all.

Everybody at school knows Clarke’s story just as well as they know Lexa’s.

Finally, they reach Clarke’s house. Lexa reaches behind the seats and picks Clarke’s backpack, handing it to her. Their hands brush slightly and Lexa tries to stop the acceleration of her heartbeat. _No_ , she tries to command it, _don’t_.

As always, her heart doesn’t listen to her head.

“Thanks for bringing me” says Clarke, but her smile seems to say more than that. Lexa stares into her impossibly beautiful eyes and nods. It seems to say, _thanks for listening_.

“Will you be alright?” asks Lexa, cursing herself for caring so much about a girl she barely knows.

“Yeah, mom’s supposed to come home in like an hour” she says, gritting her teeth for a moment.

Lexa hesitates a little before reaching over and placing her hand over Clarke’s. Warmth spreads through her arm and chest like wildfire.

“Take care” she says, feeling like she should say more. Comfort Clarke, maybe, for all the things she has said, all the things that trouble her head. But she doesn’t know how.

Clarke smiles warmly and nods “Thanks again, Lexa”

She turns and opens the car door. Lexa lets her hand slip from Clarke’s and back onto the steering wheel.

Clarke gets off the car and runs to her house, taking Lexa’s hoodie with her.

Lexa turns the ignition back on and drives away. She keeps telling herself on the way back that she drove Clarke home, she took her to infirmary, and looked after her, cared for her, only because she was the one to hit her with the soccer ball, nothing more. Because she felt guilty. But of course she knows that isn’t quite true. Of course, deep down, she knows there’s another reason, and that reason frightens Lexa to the point that she needs a couple of drives around the block to calm herself down before going home.

_Love is weakness_ , she reminds herself as she turns the key on the lock of the door, _you’ve suffered once and that’s enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter has come and gone!  
> So, I have decided to continue this fic thanks to y'all who've given me kudos and comments, thanks guys. I'll be updating every Monday (sorry if it was too late today, I completely forgot it was Monday) and, well, please, if you enjoyed, leave kudos, a coment, anything will do :)
> 
> Also, OMG did you guys see the trailer for season 3!?!? Spoiler Alert: I'm dying but at least we see Lexa and Clarke riding together so that's something... I really hope Lexa's alright but if you don't want anymore spoilers from me go see it irght now! (I'm betting the fight sceen is a flashback or something)


	3. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 18th Birthday to Clarke fucking Griffin

**Saturday 20 th of October, 02:34 PM. Washington D.C.**

It’s become a kind of routine for them. It feels familiar, comforting almost, what they have.

That routine being Lexa driving Clarke home every day from school. (I know, it's not that much, but it's relevant, alright?)

Clarke isn’t sure if they’re even friends yet, but from all she’s shared with Lexa, all the rants she’s gone on, she’s sure they’re at least not strangers anymore – she doesn’t regret it though, she knows Lexa would never speak behind her back. She doesn’t know how or why, but she trusts her.

It started the Monday after the soccer ball incident. Clarke had been walking home alone, the cold humidity from the rain of that weekend still lingering on the air, and Lexa had passed by on her black Camaro. She had stopped beside her and offered to take her. Clarke had accepted.

The next day was the same thing. And after that, Lexa would just wait for her, leaning against the trunk of her car, her hands tugged inside her black leather jacket’s pockets, looking all serious and brooding.

Most of the times they would drive silently, listening to the soft music on the radio until they reached Clarke’s house. Other times, they would make small talk, asking about some test, or something to do with their jobs as Student Body President and Vice-president, or how annoying the arithmetic’s teacher was. Sometimes, on an especially bad day, Clarke would rant, unwinding all of her thoughts inside the small cabin. She would talk about the most bizarre of topics. Sometimes about school, or her mother, of college, or the fucked up American education System, or how pretty the day was, or how she run out of pages in her new sketching pad, or something.

On those days, Lexa would mostly just listen, silently, and understand.

Clarke knew she understood. Somehow, Lexa understood. She could see it in the way her stormy grey-green eyes looked at her, not with pity or annoyance, but with understanding. She wouldn’t say anything, but Clarke didn’t need to hear her voice to assure her she was there for her, in some weird, silent-stranger kind of way.

It is strange. Clarke had never though she could have this kind of connection with someone. And considering this someone barely even talks to her outside the Camaro, she’s puzzled. And even more when she considers it’s barely been a few days, two weeks, tops. She likes Lexa, that’s for sure. She is impossible to unravel, unreadable, mysterious. She is calm and collected but Clarke can see a storm of passion turning and flowing in her eyes every time she looks at her. She’s heard her in debate class, Lexa’s nothing but passionate and fierce when it comes to discussing.

And still, her eyes have a softness to them, one Clarke is pretty sure Lexa reserves to only a few, and she considers herself lucky to be a part of them.

And the way she carries herself, with such authority, and calmness, and command. She always manages to catch everyone’s attention, even if she doesn’t want to, she just has that kind of aura. And she always seems to radiate trustworthiness. It seems, at times, as if Lexa is some kind of royalty, a Commander that cares and defends her people to her last breath. She definitely has the authority to be so, too, and her posture’s perfect, so that’s a plus. (Clarke has never seen someone with a better posture than hers.)

But there’s something sad about her, something Clarke thinks she knows what is, something she understands, and something she wishes Lexa would talk about. But she holds her tongue, Clarke can see that. Whenever they’re alone, she can see Lexa holding herself back, keeping her distance. And Clarke let’s her. After all, she, more than anyone, knows how hard it is. How hard it is to open yourself up when you’re not certain you ‘ll be able to build yourself back up again afterwards.

And yet, Clarke’s sure, she knows from personal experience after all, that Lexa would feel much better if she talked about it. She wishes she would just take that leap of faith and open up.

Clarke guesses it’s not in her right to ask since she’s not even sure they’re friends yet, but she wants to.

Clarke is desperate to get to know Lexa. All of Lexa, not just the pretty parts.

***

**Saturday 20 th of October, 03:45 pm. Bethesda, Maryland.**

Lexa pushes the cart a little further down the aisle and waits for her mother to return with the coffee she forgot.

She leans on the cart a little and looks around. The supermarket is almost packed to the top with people doing groceries and she wonders why would her mother leave shopping for a Saturday evening. It wasn’t smart at all. A small voice in the back of her head suggests she did it so she could spend some normal quality time with Lexa, but Lexa shuts the voice, and thinks of something else.

“Lexa, honey” her mother appears from behind her, two cans of coffee in her hands. She drops them inside the half-full cart and starts walking towards the next aisle, Lexa in tow.

“So” continues her mother “Have you talked to Gustus lately?”

The question takes Lexa by surprise, though her face doesn’t show it. She keeps her neutral stare, looking straight ahead instead of her mother’s face. She concentrates on a kid sitting on a cart, playing with their dinosaur while their mom’s looking at noodles.

“He left for College” she says “It’s not like I have much time to go see him”

“Well I thought he might have come home to see you. Oh, you two made such a cute couple”

A stab to the gut, that’s how Lexa feels right now. She purses her lips, closes her eyes for a moment, and grips the cart a little tighter, her knuckles going white. She takes a few deep breaths before re-opening her eyes and says, through gripped teeth, “we weren’t a couple”

The kid sitting a few meters from her has stopped playing and is now looking at her with their mouth half opened.

“Oh Lexa, I know you, you liked him. And he liked you. If he had stayed I bet you two would have ended up marrying each other” says her mother smiling with a wave of her hand as she looks through the rice section.

Lexa feels like she’ll vomit if she opens her mouth to speak so she just nods her head once when her mother looks at her. She’s sure she’s as pale as a veil but her mother doesn’t notice.

The kid’s mom finally picks a pack of noodles and pushes the cart away. The kid’s eyes stay on Lexa’s until her disappears round the corner.

She seems to do a lot of that lately, not noticing, she thinks. Maybe it’s the fact that, since she left, Lexa has changed so much, and her mother just assumes she’s the same old Lexa. Or maybe it’s because she just sees Lexa the way everyone else sees her, just the spitting image of Sarah Woods, first of her class and valedictorian in high school, graduated from university with honors, and best Lawyer of the state. Lexa hates that.

They continue their shopping in silence, Lexa’s stomach as tight as a knot and her lips pressed together.

***

Once they’re finished, they make their way through the parking lot towards Lexa’s mother’s expensive new BMW. As they’re loading the bags to the trunk her mother resumes the conversation “If not Gustus, then who does my little girl have her eye on?”

Lexa, again, feels like vomiting. Apparently, she’s still not completely out of the woods.

“No one” she says, her mind immediately jumping to an image of Clarke ranting on about how standardized tests are bullshit in the shotgun seat of her Camaro. She pushes the image away though, too many reasons not to want it in her head at the moment. Or at any moment, that being.

“Oh come on, honey” continues her mother “There’s got to be _someone_. Such a beautiful girl like you? Of course, if you dressed up a little bit more and stopped with all the mindless boy sports you and your father like so much, you’d probably have a different boy every Saturday night ready to take you out to the movies or whatever you kids do nowadays. I know I did at your age”

Her mother smiles at her, like her idea is the best in the world and as if they haven’t had this conversation every single weekend since she can remember. The whole conversation’s giving Lexa a stomach ache.

“Mom” Lexa says, controlling her temper and thinking over every word she’s about to say carefully “I’m okay like this, I’m concentrating on my studies right now, like you and Dad want me to”

“Oh!” says her mother, smiling mischievously. She raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at Lexa and says “You do have a boy! You just don’t want to tell me!”

“Mom–”

“Is it Lincoln?”

“Mom!”

“Okay, okay, Lexa. No need for shouting” her mother closes the trunk of the BMW and climbs onto the driver’s seat. Lexa silently moves to the seat beside her, clenching and unclenching her yaw over and over again. After that, her mother seems to drop the subject, but Lexa doesn’t calm down until she closes the door of her room behind her, thirty minutes later.

_She doesn’t know_ , she keeps repeating herself as they drive home, _she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know._

She can’t know.

***

**Saturday 20 th of October, 04:06 PM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke opens the front door of her house and is immediately tackled by a pair of tanned, strong arms.

“Bellamy!” she screams and hugs him back as tight as she can.

“Happy birthday Princess!” says Bellamy as he buries his face on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke grins wildly. She hasn’t seen Bellamy since he left for College in September. The boy apparently drove all the way from New York only to be there today.

“Bellamy?” she asks incredulous “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Visiting my best friend on the day of her birth” he says nonchalantly as he lets go of her and ruffles her hair. He’s smiling down at her, his eyes shining under his heavy eyelids. His hair has grown longer than the last time Clarke saw him, but it kind of suits him and his new, laid back, college student lifestyle.

“Oh god” she says, still out of breath.

“I got you this” says Bellamy pulling off his backpack and reaching into it, bringing out a rectangular package wrapped awkwardly in blue and white paper. He passes it to Clarke, his smile growing.

“God Bell, you shouldn’t have” she says pulling at the paper and revealing a small, leather bound, sketching pad.

“Bellamy!” Clarke throws her arms around Bellamy again, pulling him down with the force of the hug. Bellamy chuckles, hugging her back.

“Okay enough with the hugging, it’s my turn now!” says a voice from behind Bellamy and Clarke notices Raven standing off to the left. Finn, Octavia, Jasper, Monty, and even Murphy are also there, the later one with an annoyed look in his face but, Clarke notices, a neatly wrapped gift in his hands.

She hugs them all, one by one – except Murphy who just smiles dryly at her as he gives her his present – and lets them in.

“Clarke?” asks her mother from the kitchen as the group makes their way inside. She’s preparing dinner, Clarke’s favorite, Blueberry Pancakes with extra syrup. Abby’s head pops through the door and, when she sees all the kids in the receiver taking off their coats, she smiles. Her smile grows a bit when she spots Bellamy, his hand resting around Clarke’s shoulders as they chat animatedly. Clarke knows her mother has always held onto a faint hope that maybe she would ‘stop with the confused sexuality nonsense’ and just date Bellamy. Apparently, in her mind, they’re the perfect match. But she could never do that, Bellamy is the older brother she never had, she could never ruin that only for the sake of her mother’s hopes.

“Hey Mrs. Griffin!” Calls Monty when he spots her, running up to her and hugging her.

“What’s for dinner Mrs. G?” Asks Jasper coming up behind Monty, an innocent look in his face.

“I’ll order a couple of pizzas since I doubt Clarke’s pancakes will be enough for so many” says Clarke’s mom, sighing.

“Oh, I forgot to say, I invited a couple more friends to celebrate” says Finn approaching Abby with an apologetic smile.

Clarke can see her mother’s grin tightening and hopes that, because it’s her birthday, maybe she won’t yell at her for not warning her, later on.

“It’s okay” says Abby “how many, so I know how many pizzas to buy?”

“Only a couple more” says Bellamy, walking forward, his arm still wrapped around Clarke’s shoulders “Harper and Miller, Monroe, Sterling. The usual”

“But don’t worry Mrs. G, we asked for contributions” adds Finn.

“Okay then” says Abby and slips back into the kitchen.

The group then makes their way to the living room where they all seat comfortably and chat. For some unknown reason, Clarke ends up next to Murphy in the couch and, after the conversation has gotten loud enough to offer some privacy, Murphy leans in and whispers “The smile on your mom’s face was the fakest I have seen since Mean Girls came out”

Clarke stiffs, turning to Murphy, her eyes as wide as plates “What?”

“Oh c’mon Clarke, I know about you and your mom, you don’t need to act” he winks at her.

Clarke’s still shocked and can’t speak a word, her mouth hanging half-opened, so Murphy continues “It may not be obvious to the rest, but it is to a trained eye like mine. After all, it takes a lot of experience, and I’m not lacking on it”

“You can’t say anything” whispers Clarke, her voice harsher than she meant it to be, but she doesn’t worry, she’s been harder on Murphy before. She knows the boy can take almost anything, just like herself.

He gestures with his hand as if he was zipping his mouth shut and smiles. Clarke knows she will pay for this little conversation, knows Murphy isn’t above blackmailing her, but she pushes the though away.

She shakes her head and turns back to the conversation. After some time the doorbell rings and Clarke goes to open. Harper and Miller are standing there, both with a smile on their faces and a gift on their hands.

***

**Saturday 20th of October, 07:56 PM. Washington D.C.**

The evening wears out like that, with a few more friends coming in, some silly games like spin the bottle, truth or dare, or some other stupid idea from Raven. The pizzas arrive just as Clarke is closing the door behind Monroe and they all eat happily. At around eight o’clock the doorbell rings again and this time Octavia, who had been on her phone for the past half-hour, is the one to jump up and run to the door. Clarke follows her and sees the reason. Octavia, standing on her tiptoes, is hugging her boyfriend, Lincoln.

As soon as Lincoln sees Clarke he whispers something in Octavia’s ear and the small girl lets go. He walks in and stands in front of Clarke “Happy birthday Clarke” he says a bit awkwardly “I know I wasn’t invited, but Octavia said I should drop by and also, Lexa left this at my house yesterday so I could give it to you, so…” He looks down at his hands where a small box rests. He offers it to Clarke and she smiles at him reassuringly “It’s okay, I’m actually glad you came”

He smiles warmly at her, now a little more comfortable, and repeats “Happy birthday”

Octavia runs up behind him and grabs his hand, dragging him to the living room where the rest of the gang is currently playing ‘Never Have I Ever…’

Just as Lincoln’s about to disappear through the threshold of the living room though, Clarke calls to him “Isn’t Lexa coming by?”

Lincoln turns, an unreadable, serious, expression in his face, and says “She’s at her mom’s on the weekends”

“Oh” Clarke can’t help disappointment fill her gut but she pushes it away. She isn’t sure why she’s disappointed though. Clarke sighs, confusion filling her head. It’s not like they’re _that close_ anyways. They just drive home from school together. Nothing more. But still, she was kind of hoping that, if Lincoln came, she would come too.

Clarke lowers her gaze to the box in her hands. She twists it about some and then decides on opening it.

She feels warmth exploding in her chest at the sight of what’s inside it. Butterflies follow the explosion and her lips’ corners lift on their own. It’s as if her body’s reacting before she even has the time proses why the hell would such a gift like this cause a reaction like hers.

Inside the box there’s a flower, a dandelion, resting over a silver, delicate chain necklace with a small hand-made wooden lion’s head. It’s beautiful and Clarke’s breathe catches in her throat. She caresses the lines of its mane with her thumb, going through every detail. The eyes, the snout, the ears, everything is perfect. She picks up the dandelion then and her smile widens, if that’s even possible. The memory comes to her in a flash. She didn’t even know she remembered it until she saw the dandelion.

She’s six years old, playing on the school’s sandbox. Wells is by her side and they’re building a sand castle. She remembers laughing like a maniac when Wells put a bucket over his head and danced some kind of silly dance, his arms and legs flailing about.

But then, suddenly, someone pulls at her braid, hard. She feels pain in her head and tears prickle the corners of her eyes immediately. Wells jumps up, ready to fight whoever did it, but, as Clarke turn back, she sees Wells could never fight the person who hurt her, because it’s a girl. And Wells doesn’t fight girls.

Lexa stands there for a moment, her hair pulled back on a tight pair of braids with small strands falling over her dirty face, before darting away towards the small group of trees on the far end of the playground, where a couple of mud-covered kids wait for her.

Wells, of course, runs towards the teacher immediately to tell her what happened.

Soon enough, both Clarke and Lexa are standing in the empty classroom with Miss Johnsons in front of them. Lexa looks incredibly guilty, her cheeks as red as an apple and her hands tightly gripping each other behind her back. She can only look down at her dirty sneakers, afraid of the punishment she’s sure to get.

Clarke, on the other side, is gripping Miss Johnsons’ hand firmly, tear stains still visible on her chubby, pale cheeks.

Miss Johnsons, of course, forces Lexa to apologize to Clarke, not even asking why she did what she did. Lexa looks up, swallowing a knot in her throat, and offers Clarke a dirty hand to shake, saying “I’m vewy sowy Clarke”

Present day Clarke snickers when she remembers Lexa had trouble pronouncing r’s when she was a kid.

6-year-old Clarke though, unsure, takes her hand and, without thinking, pulls Lexa close and kisses her mud-stained cheek, saying “It’s okay”

She smiles warmly into Lexa’s pretty green eyes. It is, really. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.

Lexa looks surprised, and then pulls her other hand from behind her back. In it is a small, a little bit crunched, dandelion. She offers it to Clarke and the other girl accepts it happily, saving it in her backpack as soon as the teacher dismisses them.

Present day Clarke feels warmth inside her spreading all over as she looks down. Lexa remembered.

She pulls the necklace out of the box and puts it around her neck letting it rest right over her chest.

She walks back into the living room a few minutes later, her heart warm and full, her smile never faltering, and a dandelion safely gripped in her hand. Nobody asks anything but Octavia and Lincoln exchange a knowing look and, later that night, Lincoln calls Lexa’s phone.

*******

**Saturday 20 th of October, 11:56 PM. Bethesda, Maryland.**

“Lexa?” Calls Lincoln’s voice through the phone.

The girl in question is lying in her bed, her pajamas already on, reading a book. She’s got her phone up to her ear and is absentmindedly going through the worn-out pages of the book she probably knows word by word. A bottle of wood varnish and a paintbrush rest over her desk. Under it, the garbage basket is overflowing with bits of cut out wood, and a couple of discarded dandelions dot her room’s floor. She should clean that up since it’s been lying around there for a week now, but the laziness is too strong.

“Hey Lincoln” she says “How’d it go?”

She tries to keep her voice even, not to let the excitement and nervousness she’s suddenly feeling slip out of her mouth and through the phone. But Lincoln manages to read her emotions anyways, as soon as she pronounced the words. Lexa envies that from him, the way he can just read people as clearly as looking through water.

“She loved it” he simply says and Lexa can almost hear the smile in his lips. And she smiles too, rather widely, as a bunch of butterflies fill her stomach.

She immediately stops grinning, though, as it suddenly dawns on her. The hand she had on the book slips down and clenches her sheets. She clenches her jaw too, and feels a knot form in her stomach. Dread fills her whole being as she think things over.

“Lexa?” she hears Lincoln on the other side of the line but doesn’t bother to answer.

She’s doing it again.

She’s doing it again and she didn’t even realize it until now.

Until Lincoln told her about Clarke’s response to her gift.

Until she realized she spent a whole fucking day on a small birthday gift for a girl she didn’t even know if she was actually friends with. A week before said birthday was taking place.

No. she couldn’t do this. Not again.

She feels her stomach turning and her grip on her cellphone tightening. An acrid taste takes over her mouth as she swallows slowly.

“Lexa?” Lincoln tries again, but Lexa is silent.

She hangs up on him, feeling sick and angry at herself. _How could I let this happen?_ She should have known better. She should have had more self-restrain. She should have realized what was happening. _How could I be so fucking stupid?_ _How? How did I let myself fall in so fucking deep for this girl that I carve necklaces for her? How?_ It had started as a simple gift, cause that’ the polite thing to do, send a gift to the person who’s birthday is. _How could I let it happen? Why didn't I forsee it? How could I let Clarke get this close to me?_  She had convinced it was the normal thing to do, but now she realizes it’s not, it’s what someone who had feelings for her would do. And feelings, especially the ones she was currently trying to crush down with all her force, were weakness.

A weakness that could, _that would,_ be exploited.

No, she coldn't let this go any further. Lexa knew whatever, whoever, got close to her, died. she was cursed.

She couldn’t let that happen to Clarke. Not again.

Feelings are weakness.

Love, love is weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for another monday :) Hope you liked it, please leave kudos or comments or whatever. Also, message me if you'd like to leave any suggestions or other comments, or have any requests


	4. A Leather Jacket And An Almost Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I'm soooo effing sorry about not posting yesterday!! it just slipped my mind, between helping out my mom and running errands... well, to say sorry I'm posting today, and with a massive amout of specially angsty Lexa thoughts and sad Clarkes, just for you! God I feel awful about making them suffer but, Alas! Here it is, Chapter 4. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, Trigger Warning: Parental Abuse, sorry! Oh, and Alcoholism. It's a heavy chapter...

**Sunday 21 st of October, 05:12 PM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke’s having a PB&J in the kitchen when her mother strolls in, a small smile lingering in her lips. No trace of the angry scowl she wore the night before when they argued once again. This time, it was about the clothes Clarke had wanted to wear to a party. Which her mother sneeringly noted where too ‘revealing’ or something.

“Hey Clarke” says Abby “how’re things going?”

Clarke feels suspicious immediately. Her mother almost never asks how things are going, not this way, not so openly and friendly.

She reaches instinctively at her neck were Lexa’s necklace lies under her shirt. She still hasn’t figured out what it means, that Lexa gave it to her, but she likes it, she likes keeping it around her neck. But she wouldn’t dare show it to her mother. The older woman would rip it out of her neck and throw it to the trash, along with any connection Clarke could even have with Lexa. Because that was the way Abby Griffin dealt with disagreeing with her daughter, she just threw everything she didn’t like to the trash and push the rest as far away as she could. And Clarke was certain Abby would disagree with her daughter hanging out with a half-punk, rumored-to-be-gay girl.

“Good” says Clarke, trying a smile, even if it’s fake. It comes out extremely easily, which unsettles Clarke.

“So” continues Abby leaning against the counter, looking at Clarke with a playful glint in her eyes.

_What the hell?_

“Bellamy came to see you for your birthday” She stated “and he stayed over and even went with you to that party yesterday”

Clarke clenches her jaw, sensing what was to come. Bellamy.

It just had to be Bellamy.

“He did, but mom–”

“Clarke he obviously likes you!” she interrupts, insisting. Clarke rolls her eyes at her. She starts saying something but her mother interrupts her again “I just don’t understand why you try so damn hard to play hard to get!”

Clarke can feel herself go red in rage.

“Mom! I don’t like him that way!” She mutters through gritted teeth, her fists clenched at her sides, her half eaten sandwich lying on the counter, forgotten “I’m not playing hard to get! I don’t _want_ him to get me, period!”

“Oh, so you prefer to stay single?” asks her mother, a condescending tone in her voice “or maybe stay with this crazy, ridiculous idea of yours that you can date whoever you want? That you can just go around, kissing whoever it is, not even caring for gender or anything?!”

Clarke was about to explode, white rage burning inside her “Maybe I do!”

“Well the world isn’t the way you want it to be Clarke!”

“Then how is it, huh? What is so wrong about who I am?”

“It’s just that, honey, I don’t want you getting a reputation. It won’t end nicely, I know it. People will start calling you names…”

“Well maybe people aren’t as narrow minded as you are! Has the thought ever occurred to you that not everybody thinks like you? That maybe people are nicer than a-”

“Hey! Watch your tone! I won’t have you yelling in this house, I’ve already told you that a thousand times, Clarke. And I think it would be better for you if you dated Bellamy, he loves you and you love him, it’s easy. Why throw girls in the mix at all?”

“I don’t love him that way! He’s my best friend! Why do I have to always do whatever you think is right? You’re not my boss!”

“Because here, I’m in charge, and I say you can’t date girls, you understand me young lady? If you’re not dating boys, then you’re not dating anyone!”

“What?! Why?!”

“You heard me Clarke! Because I say so! As long as you live under my roof, I make the rules! I won’t have my own daughter suffer of the rumors going around that she kissed a _girl_ at a party! I won’t be shamed like that! I don’t like it, it’s disgusting and unnatural, and I know your father supported your shit but he’s gone, you heard me? And I’m the only one left and I say you can’t! I’ve had enough! I’m putting my foot down and saying you can’t continue with this sickening phase you’re on!” her mother screams at her and Clarke can’t take it anymore. She feels the hot tears building behind her eyes, stinging, fighting to get out and roll down her cheeks. But she won’t let them, not while _she’s_ looking.

“It’s not a phase, for fuck’s sake! This is who _I am_ , mom. Can’t you understand it?” she begs, frustrated “Can’t you accept it?”

“I won’t accept something that’s not natural Clarke! It’s an abomination! And I won’t have it in my house!” spits back her mother.

“I thought it was _our_ house! I guess I was wrong” bites Clarke, not even caring about the sarcasm and bitterness that coats her words anymore.

“Yes! Very wrong. This is _my_ house and _I_ make the rules! And I won’t have you continue to ruin our family just because you think it’s _‘who you are’!_ ”

“Well then maybe I should just move out!”

“Maybe you should! Cause I won’t be living with a _disgusting dyke_ anymore!”

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, but finds she’s out of words. Instead, she storms out the kitchen and out the house itself. Out the front yard, crossing the street, she starts running, just running. She hears her mother screaming after her but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t know where she’s going but she doesn’t care.

She went too far this time.

She went too fucking far.

***

**Sunday 21 st of October, 06:63 PM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa turns the car and approaches her house. It looks empty – it probably is – she guesses her dad must be out at the bar.

She parks on the front and turns off the car. Her body feels heavy, her chest tight, and a knot holds her throat tight. Not even driving took this heaviness away and she knows why.

She has made a decision.

_Walk away. Clarke deserves better._

She’ll stop driving Clarke home, she’ll stop thinking about Clarke, and she’ll definitely stop daydreaming about leaving this hellhole with Clarke. It’s too dangerous and she knows everything she’ll get out of it is pain. And that’s the best case scenario. Worst… well she doesn’t even want to think of that.

Except she can’t stop thinking about Clarke.

She can’t stop wondering what her hair would feel slipping through her fingers, what it would feel like to braid it. She wonders how her eyes would look up close, close enough for their noses to touch. She wonders how it would feel to place her hand on the small of Clarke’s back and lead her through a slow song, resting her chin on the top of her head, smelling the scent of her hair. She wonders about how it would feel to have Clarke’s hand in hers, to have her head rest against her shoulder, to bury her face on the crook of her neck and to kiss her soft, pail lips.

Lexa shakes her head. _Stop it you idiot_. She opens the car door roughly and gets out, slamming it back. She goes to the trunk and pulls out her rucksack. Then, she locks the car and heads to her house.

Lexa’s climbing the steps to the side door when she stops in her tracks halfway up, seeing the top of a blonde head just barely visible from her position.

Clarke hasn’t see her yet and so Lexa takes a step forward and tries to slow down her breathing. _What the hell is she doing here?_

Lexa hears a muffled sniff and looks at Clarke again, and notices she’s got her face in her hands and is crying, silently.

_Okay, she’s sitting at my doorsteps, crying. What do I do?_

She takes another step up the stairs and Clarke raises her head, wiping her puffy red eyes with the back of her hand. Lexa notices Clarke’s only wearing a light shirt and not even a pair of shoes.

“Lexa” breathes Clarke, her voice hoarse and broken. Lexa can’t help but melt at the sound and the sight of her tear-stained face. All her determination to forget her is already gone with the wind. She doesn’t care that she’ll get hurt, she can’t let Clarke go. She just can’t.

“Clarke” says Lexa, reaching down in one swift movement and pulling her up by the hand. As soon as she’s standing on her own two feet, Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist, burying her face on her shoulder and crying again, loudly.

Lexa awkwardly tries to comfort her, draping her own arms around Clarke’s shuddering and suddenly frail frame.

“Clarke” she tries again, ignoring the buzz that has settled in her stomach due to Clarke’s close proximity. Once the sobs turn into silent hiccups and sniffs, she continues “We should get inside, you’ll freeze otherwise”

Clarke nods against her shoulder and let’s go, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering at the sudden loss of warmth.

Lexa quickly reaches for the door and unlocks it, opening it wide for Clarke to go in.

Clarke hesitates for a moment at the entrance, before stepping in. Lexa does the same and locks the door behind her. She drops her rucksack on the floor and turns on the lights.

“Clarke, what happened?” she asks, her heart clenching at the sight of Clarke’s tears and her expression. She a total clutter, her hair all messy, her face full of tears, her lower lip trembling. Lexa feels as though a knife is plucking at her heart, twisting, cold and jarred. She wants to hug her again, tightly, and whisper to her that everything will be okay.

But she doesn’t, she just waits for Clarke.

Clarke only shakes her head, her arms still wrapped around her stomach.

“Clarke” repeats Lexa, but she doesn’t push for more. Instead, she takes off her leather jacket and wraps it around Clarke. Then, she leads her out of the kitchen and into the living room. She sit Clarke on the large sofa and picks a comforter from the smaller couch. Lexa wraps the blanket around Clarke and sits beside her, unsure of what to do next.

Clarke, pulling her feet under herself, turns and leans into Lexa’s side. Lexa’s arm instinctively lifts and falls back over her shoulders protectively.

They’re silent for a moment as Lexa’s eyes roam over Clarke’s shivering figure.

Suddenly, Lexa feels a pang of guilt weight down at the pit of her stomach as the familiarity of the scene settles in her mind. She remembers countless afternoons, alone in this couch, watching some old movie, hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table in front of them, with… with _her_.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice, slightly more even now, is low, almost like a purr. Lexa swallows the lump in her throat and looks back down at her. Clarke’s hand reaches up and cups Lexa’s cheek, her thump tracing small patters over Lexa’s cheekbone.

Lexa can’t help but lean into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment. She opens them again and sees Clarke, her face closer to hers.

“Let’s run away” she breaths and Lexa’s heart is thumping so hard she fears Clarke will hear it. Their faces are mere inches away, she could just lean in a little and then they would be kissing. She can feel Clarke’s soft breath on her lips and, when she leans just slightly, Lexa feels it hitching. She feels the corner of her mouth pull up, her insides bubbling. She rubs her nose lightly with Clarke’s, but then, guilt comes in again and makes her pull back a little, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. She pushes it down, trying to forget about it and curses herself silently.

“But–” Lexa find herself saying. No matter how much she tries, she still can’t get away from her guilt. Clarke’s thumb covers Lexa’s lips before she gets another word out.

“I can’t stand it here” she continues “Not anymore”

“What happened?” asks Lexa, wondering what could have possibly broken Clarke so badly that she ended like this.

Clarke pulls back a little, her hand falling to rest on Lexa’s thigh, and Lexa tries to concentrate on Clarke’s soft blue eyes, not her hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it” she whispers, avoiding her eyes.

Lexa reaches out and turns Clarke’s head with her hand lightly. Finally, Clarke meets her gaze and Lexa feels herself melting again, feeling like the pain in Clarke’s eyes is too much for a girl as young as her. She doesn’t deserve it, whatever it is that happened, she doesn’t deserve it. Clarke closes her eyes for a moment and says “My mom, she–”

Lexa waits for more but, from her silence, figures that’s all she’s going to get from Clarke. She settles with giving her a kiss on the cheek. It’s light and barely even there, but Lexa senses Clarke stiffening, her cheeks growing pink. Lexa feels awful for a moment before Clarke smiles, relaxing further into Lexa’s side, and resting her head back on the taller girl’s shoulder.

They spend about half an hour like this, sitting in silence.

Lexa’s grateful for it. Clarke’s presence, her warmth against her side, the sense of familiarity, of comfort, of finally being at home. The absence of a need to do something, be something, someone, else. All of Lexa’s walls seem to go down and she’s not worried at all, because she trust Clarke so fully, she doesn’t need to be someone else with her, she doesn’t need to pretend. She feels… safe, with her. It’s almost as if she – they – needed these small moments of peace, same as the small moments they share in the old Camaro, to assure them life is worth living for, even in this hellhole they live in. That it isn’t all judgmental parents, and homophobic neighbors, and rumors at school, and being the best at everything. That life isn’t about what they do, but what they feel.

“Thanks for the necklace” says Clarke softly, finally breaking the silence and raising her head a little, so she can see into Lexa’s eyes.

Lexa smiles, not sure what to say. She had never given someone one of her wood figures as a gift, not anyone but… but her.

And now Clarke.

“It’s nothing” she says, looking away. Her heart both aching at the memory and warming with the look Clarke gives her, the small smile creeping at her thin lips.

“It’s beautiful” counters Clarke, sincerity dripping from her warm voice “and the dandelion”

Lexa blushes, remembering her gift.

“It was very sweet” continues Clarke “I appreciate it Lexa”

“I am sorry I could not be there to give it to you myself, but I have to spend the weekends with my mother until I turn eighteen, no exceptions”

“You’re still not eighteen?” asks Clarke incredulous, pulling away from Lexa’s shoulder to look at her more clearly. She had just turned eighteen the day before and she just can’t believe Lexa isn’t older than her. She sure acted that way.

Lexa shakes her head, blushing “No. But I act as if I was, don’t I?”

“Yeah you do” says Clarke, amused “when’s your birthday?”

“11th of January” she says.

“So… I’m older than you?” asks Clarke, a smug smile in her lips.

Lexa narrows her eyes at her “I suppose”

Clarke grins and goes back to resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder.

“Where you serious?” asks Lexa after a few moments. She doesn’t need to specify, Clarke knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“I think I was” says Clarke scrunching her eyebrows together, lost in thought.

“Me too” says Lexa, rubbing her thumb in circles around Clarke’s shoulder absentmindedly.

Suddenly Clarke pulls away fully, and sits back on the couch, facing Lexa “You’re sure?”

Lexa pounders on it for a moment before nodding, her expression serene.

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up “You would just leave? Just like that? Why?”

Lexa feels immediately uncomfortable.

“I have my reasons” she says, harsher than she meant, but Clarke doesn’t mind the harshness. She just nods and settles back into Lexa’s arms. Lexa will tell her when she’s ready, she’s sure of that.

“When should we do it?” Clarke asks, surprising herself with the easiness she talks with about leaving.

A noise coming from the front door startles them both and Lexa hisses, stiffening “Shit! It’s my dad!”

She stands up so quickly, Clarke almost falls off the couch as she’s pulled up with her.

“He can’t see you here!” Lexa says, panic filling her voice.

Clarke, confused, asks “Why?”

“Just– because!” hisses Lexa and pulls Clarke to the back door just as Lexa’s dad opens the front one and calls “Lexa! I’m home!”

Lexa opens the back door and shoves Clarke out. She feels guilty for doing this to Clarke but she can’t help it. Dad can’t see her there.

“I’m sorry Clarke” she says, before closing the door and turning to her dad who is just then walking into the kitchen.

“Lexa” he says tiredly, bags under his dark eyes and his hair ruffled and wild. His tie hangs loosely around his neck and his button up is untucked. He drops down his briefcase on the linoleum floor and glares at her, his eyes vicious and wild.

“Hello dad” says Lexa, sighing. She can smell the alcohol in his breath even from across the kitchen. She grits her teeth and prepares herself for what’s to come.

***

**Monday 22 nd of October, 00:28 AM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke walks around with her hands shoved into Lexa’s thick leather jacket’s pockets.

She’s gone to every single place she knows, the museum, which was closed, the Drop-Ship Café, which was also closed, the school, also closed, the mall, also closed, and even her friends’ houses, which all had their lights out. She’s making time before she has to, ultimately, go home.

Once her dad’s wristwatch indicates it’s well past midnight she figures her mother must have already gone off to the hospital for her night shift, so she makes her way back.

She distracts her mind while she walks with thinking about how it’s kind of become a habit of hers to steal Lexa’s clothes – totally by accident, of course – and she snuggles farther into the jacket. It smells nice, like firewood, and coffee, and old leather. It smells like Lexa.

The hoodie she still hangs onto since the soccer ball incident – about two and a half weeks ago – had started to lose the smell so she is happy to have the jacket. Of course she’s going to return them both. Probably.

Well, Clarke’s almost sure Lexa doesn’t even miss the hoodie, so she thinks she can still hang onto it for some more time. As for the jacket, she’s sure Lexa will want that back first thing tomorrow morning.

Clarke feels strangely happy. She should be devastated, she should be crying her eyes out, she should be _doing_ something. Reacting. But she feels like she already did that, like she’s done with the suffering. Finally she knows for sure how her mother feels about her and that gives her a certain kind of relief.

She’s ashamed, she’s disgusted, and she’s repulsed by her. And, even if this does feel like a stab to the heart every time she thinks about it, she feels a certain serenity in knowing for sure. Knowing.

She even, strangely, wishes her mouther would have said those words two years before, when she had come out to them. Maybe then she would have avoided all the horrible fights. Maybe she could have just ran away then. Maybe her father would have changed her mother’s mind, convinced her it wasn’t disgusting, that it wasn’t her choice, that it wasn’t voluntary. God knows Clarke hadn’t wanted this to be her choice. She had struggled so much to come to terms with it, she couldn’t even believe her mother could be so heartless as to put the blame on her. She hadn’t wanted this back then, and she’s still struggling, even now. But she’s sure of who she is now, and she’s not ashamed of it. She just wishes her mother would look past her sexuality and see her as she truly was, see she was still her little girl who loved following her around, playing doctor and drawing with crayons and office pens at the hospital.

_Whatever,_ Clarke thinks, _she hates me and now I know it, there’s nothing I can do about it._

Clarke reaches her house a few minutes later. She heats up a slice of pizza, eats it, and then goes to bed. She hangs Lexa’s jacket beside her old Denim jacket in her closet, hoping the smell will maybe stick.

She falls asleep rubbing her thumb over the lion’s head, her mind replaying the feeling of Lexa’s closeness, her nose rubbing hers, her arm around her, everything about Lexa just bringing a calmness and peace over her heart she hadn’t felt in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed... whatever that was. Please, feel free to leave any kudos and comments. (Please os it, they're the highlights of my day, seriously) Also, message me if you have any comments, complains, suggestions, or requests :D Have a happy Tuesday, or whatever day of the week you're reading this on!  
> Peace out XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o!! sorry again! i totally forgot to post yesterday. God, since it's the holidays I forget what day of the week is and well... anyways, chap 5 is here! Also, thank you guys soooo much, really, thank you for all the feedback you've given me. I love the comments and i honestly could have never forseen the amount of kudos you guys have left, I love it. so yeah, thanks :)
> 
> Trigger warning maybe?? There's mentions of death, and I don't know if that counts as a trigger but I just don't want anyone suffering from my fic. So... yeah, Trigger Warning: Metions of death.

**Monday 22 nd of October, 07:46 AM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa’s leaning on the hood of her car when Clarke closes the front door of her house. She’d left earlier than usual so as not to run into her mother. She’s still not ready to talk to her.

When she spots her, Lexa immediately stands up straight, pulling her hands out of her dark, forest-green letterman jacket.

Clarke feels her heartbeat speed up a little when she sees her. She looks hot, Clarke will give her that. With the letterman jacket, the ripped, skinny, black jeans, and the combat boots. Her hair’s combed back in a series of intricate braids that fall behind her and her eyes look exactly like the sky, a light shade of grey, heavy-lidded, and bright.

“Clarke” she says, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

“Hi Lexa” says Clarke smiling fully at her “What’re you doing here?”

“I had to apologize for yesterday. I practically shoved you out of my house” she says, the smile turning apologetic “it wasn’t polite. Sorry”

Clarke chuckled “No worries Lexa, I was the one who appeared out of nowhere”

Lexa looks like she’s about to say something more about the subject so Clarke reaches back into her backpack and brings out the leather jacket.

“Thought you might miss this” she says, handing it over. Lexa looks surprised, as if she expected Clarke to hang on to the jacket as she had with the hoodie.

“Oh, thanks” she says, nodding. She takes the jacket and turns to the car, opening the door and flinging the jacket onto the backseat. Then she opens the door wider and looks at Clarke.

“Need a ride?”

Clarke smiles warmly, relived she won’t have to walk all the way to school on the darkness of the early autumn morning “Yeah, thanks”

***

**Monday 22 nd of October, 12:45 PM. Washington D.C.**

Her phone vibrates and Clarke puts down her fork to fetch it from her jacket’s pocket.

_Honey we need to talk, I know what I said was wrong and I’m sorry. Please Clarke, I didn’t mean it and you know it._

_Love you, mom._

Clarke swallows the knot in her throat and locks the phone, pocketing it immediately and turning to her lunch. She grits her teeth tightly and clenches her fork, closing her eyes. She’s not going to give in to her mother’s pleas. She’s already heard what she has to say and no amount of ‘I love you’s will change it.

“Princess? You alright there?” asks Raven her voice concerned, pulling Clarke out of her thoughts, making her open her eyes and relax a little.

“Yeah” she lies, looking down at her food, not really hungry anymore.

“Liar” states Octavia, putting down her sandwich “Clarke, we know you, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all morning”

Clarke tries swallowing but her mouth feels as dry as a desert. She fidgets with her fork for a moment, trying to gather the courage to tell them.

“Is it about Commander Heart-eyes who’s been driving you home? Did she say somethin’?” asks Octavia teasingly.

“No” croaks out Clarke. Octavia’s face visibly falls, seriousness taking over.

Both, her and Raven, wait patiently, the sound of the rest of the students in the dining hall filling their ears.

“I had a fight with my mom” says Clarke in a hushed breath “It was… bad”

Octavia winces, remembering the only time she had seen Abby truly angry, how mean and hurting she could be. Raven frowns though, her lips pursed. She looks ready to punch someone and Clarke can’t blame her, taking into account the history between Abby and her. Raven may love Clarke’s mom endlessly, almost like a daughter loves her own mother, but she wouldn’t hesitate in opposing her if it meant taking Clarke’s side in an argument. That’s something she still couldn’t believe about her friends. How thy always stood by her, no matter what.

“What’d she do?” asks Raven in a suddenly cold and dry whisper.

“It’s nothing” says Clarke quickly, feeling somehow guilty for telling on her mom, her first instinct to defend her. She fights the guilt though, she knows what her mother did and said was wrong, no matter how much she loves Clarke, and that she shouldn’t feel like hiding it from her friends. Not anymore “She said I was… disgusting and that she was ashamed”

She’s surprised at how her voice sounds, detached and monotone.

Raven’s frown deepens, her fists clenching. Octavia grows red, her jaw clenched “What the fuck?”

Raven glares at her food, her fork still clasped in her fist “Un-fucking-believable” she mutters.

“Are you okay, Clarke?” asks Octavia, reaching with her hand to grab Clarke’s.

“I’m fine” she says, pulling her hand out of Octavia’s reach “It’s not something I haven’t heard before”

She knows how it hits her friends so, instead of looking at them, she picks her tray and heads for the exit, dumping the remains of her lunch on the way out.

***

**Monday 22 nd of October, 02:56 PM. Washington D.C.**

The sky’s grey, covered in thick clouds, casting dull shadows over the playground. Clarke thinks of Lexa, the sky reminding her of the color her eyes get when she’s angry or sad, even though her face may not show it. Her eyes always show everything and Clarke smirk at herself, thinking how she’s one of the few who can read them.

She’s surprised at how fast their friendship has evolved. Only a month ago they were practical strangers who had only talked a few times since Lexa gave her the first dandelion.

But she’s sure they’re friends now. She’s certain. Just as certain as she is of the fact that the world is round. After her breakdown outside Lexa’s house, she’s certain, a hundred percent.

“Ms. Griffin?”

Mrs. Wesley’s voice brings Clarke back to reality as it makes her turn from the window. She looks around, the majority of the class staring at her expectant. She swallows and blinks, embarrassed that she was caught unprepared.

“What?”

“I said, what is the name of the English queen who stablished Christianity back after the Protestant revolution?”

The name comes to Clarke faster than her own “Bloody Mary”

She knew all these facts since eight grade. European history and politics had been one of her favorite subjects, but now it’s just boring facts she already knows by heart.

“Also known as…” says Mrs. Wesley, looking at her expectant, her beady black eyes shine behind her thickly rimmed glasses and her greasy grey hair is combed back in a tight bun. The color is nothing like the one on the clouds, or Lexa’s eyes, though, it’s duller and staler. It surprises Clarke that the three of them all go into the same category of ‘Greys’.

“Mary the first of the Tudor Dynasty”

Mrs. Wesley, satisfied with her answer, returns to her class. Clarke listens for a minute or two before returning to her contemplation of the playground outside the window, mindlessly doodling in her copybook until the bell rings.

Just as she’s packing her things in her backpack her phone rings again. She looks down at it and sighs, her insides clenching for a moment before she sends the call to voicemail. She’s becoming better at ignoring her mother’s calls.

***

**Monday 22 nd of October, 05:49 PM. Washington D.C.**

The restaurant’s quite empty, only a couple of people sitting at the tables. Lexa wipes the bar with a piece of cloth and observes the clientele.

She catches Anya’s eye from a couple of tables away and snickers, the older girl stuck with an old couple who can barely hear her say the specials.

_What are they even eating at this time in the afternoon?_

A few minutes later Anya makes her way towards Lexa, a scowl in her face.

“Fuck you” she simply says and slips past her towards the kitchen. It’s a tradition in the restaurant for the employee of the month to attend the bar during the day, meaning doing the least of efforts for the same wage as the rest. Lexa’s been employee of the month for two months now.

Lexa laughs, leaning back, her elbows against the counter.

“That’s a nice sound to hear” says a voice from behind. Lexa turns and sees Lincoln, his apron and Trikru’s t-shirt all covered in food stains.

He’s smiling warmly, his hands on his hips.

“Hey Lincoln” greets Lexa.

Lincoln sits on the stool in front of Lexa and crosses his arms in front of his chest, making his shirt stretch even more than it already is, over his muscles.

“You should get a new shirt” comments Lexa absentmindedly.

Lincoln snickers cockily “Why? You find it distracting?”

Lexa makes a gagging motion and closes her eyes in disgust “Not even a bit. I’m afraid it’ll rip and then we’ll be violating some kind of health code or something”

Lincoln laughs, and Lexa joins. They laugh even harder when Anya passes by them, her arms full of plates for the old couple. She glares at them but says nothing.

“So” starts Lincoln after a moment “You and Clarke seem to be bonding a lot lately”

Lexa’s taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Yes” she says after a moment “She’s very… nice”

“She’s hot”

Lexa glares at him and he raises his hands “I mean, I only have eyes for Octavia, you know that. But she’s very appealing, and _that_ I am saying it from an artist’s point of view”

Lexa raises an eyebrow, skeptical, but brushes it off and continues “Well, she’s funny and I drive her home after school, that’s all”

“You sure about that?” he asks, leaning in, his eyebrows pushed together and his stare as solid as a rock. Lexa hates that stare, it always seems to see right through her.

“Yes” she evades his eyes, concentrating instead on cleaning a couple of glasses.

Lincoln leans in even closer, his whole chest now resting over the counter, his face inches from Lexa’s. But she doesn’t even flinch.

“Sure? A hundred percent?”

“Yep”

“Then I guess you make fancy necklaces and meaningful gifts to everyone nowadays, don’t you? Wait, no, that’s not like you at all, is it?” he continues to stare at her and Lexa feels heat creeping up her neck, but she keeps her stare down. The tension rises until Lexa can’t take it anymore, she looks up and stares into Lincolns’ eyes. She sees they’re soft and caring. Concerned even.

“Spill it out” he simply says and Lexa feels like crying. She doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to admit it, because doing so would feel like betraying _her_ , betraying what they had. It would be like saying she’s over her, and she isn’t. She can’t admit it, because it would be too painful to even think about the fact that she’s gone and Lexa has to move on. She doesn’t want to, she can’t. If she did, it would be like stepping over what they had, all the love she felt for her, as if it were nothing. As if it had meant nothing.

“I can’t” says Lexa and feels her eyes watering. She wipes them with the back of her hand and turns around, cursing herself for showing such weakness and vulnerability in front of all these people. She’s in the restaurant, a _public place, damn it_.

“Lexa” she hears Lincoln’s voice and turns away from it. She feels a hand on her shoulder and finally looks up. His eyebrows are pushed together and his lips pursed. In one swift movement, he wraps his arms around her.

Lexa squeezes him hard and buries her face on his broad shoulder for a moment. Then, she pulls back.

“I’m okay” she says, more to herself than to Lincoln, but he nods. She wipes again the tears that insist on coming and looks about, making sure nobody saw.

“You know, you don’t have to be so strong all the time” he says, making her turn back “People won’t laugh if you show true, actual emotions for a second or two”

Lexa tries to smile at his poor attempt at a joke but it ends up as more of a grimace.

“I know, bad joke” he says, leaning back on the counter “But I mean it. You don’t need to carry it all by yourself. We can help, I can help”

“I know” she says. She feels stupid for breaking down like this. This is not who she is. She’s strong, proud, intelligent, and tough. _She_ would want her to be strong, Lexa knows that.

“ _She_ would also want you to seek help, to lean on us. And to eventually move on” continues Lincoln and Lexa winces when he avoids saying her name. They both have the exact same problem “It’s been almost a year, after all”

“I know” and she truly does. She know she would want her to move on, to be happy, to love. But it just feels too much like a betrayal, it’s still too soon.

***

**Monday 22 nd of October, 09:55 PM. Washington D.C.**

“Can I stay over?” asks Clarke, not looking up from her Geography textbook. She’s laying on her stomach, her feet propped up against Octavia’s bed’s headboard, and hopes with all her heart that Octavia doesn’t connect the conversation they had at lunchtime with the fact that she doesn’t want to go home right now.

Octavia looks up from her spot on her desk, surprised. After a moment she says “Sure”

Clarke silently sighs with relief.

A few moments of silence follow, until Octavia can’t take it anymore, feeling like she might explode if she doesn’t speak. She’s been a good friend, waited all she could, stayed silent for the whole afternoon for the sake of their tests, but there’s only so much a girl can do. She snaps her Math book closed loudly and turns her chair, facing Clarke completely.

Clarke looks up from the sudden noise and raises her eyebrows at Octavia.

Octavia, in turn, breaths in, preparing what her next words will be inside her head. The question has been nagging at her brain for ever since she saw them drive away in Lexa’s car about a month ago and she can’t hold it in any longer.

“So” she starts, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees “You and Lexa”

Clarke rolls her eyes immediately, closing her book too, sensing where the conversation was headed.

“What about us?” she asks, a smile breaking through her unamused façade.

“Oh, so there’s an ‘ _us’_ now?” asks Octavia teasingly. Clarke rolls her eyes again and Octavia snickers.

“No” she says, adamantly.

“You sure there, Griff?”

“Yes O, I’m pretty sure”

“Well then you better tell that to Lexa before she goes out and buys you and engagement ring, cause she’s sure as hell acting like there is, in fact, an ‘us’ present”

Clarke frowns, not sure how to react. Mainly because she’s sure Lexa hasn’t really acted as more than just a friend. _Octavia must be just messing around._

Her hand goes up to her neck unconsciously, touching her necklace.

Octavia notices this and she gives Clarke a pointed look, nodding. Clarke huffs.

“Really O? Really?” she asks, incredulous “It’s just a necklace”

“It’s not just a necklace! And you wouldn’t even imagine how much she gawks at you when she sees you on the hallways at school. It’s truly embarrassing at times. I have to elbow her in the guts only so she will blink or look away” Says Octavia.

Clarke blushes a little and sits up straight. _Lexa? Gawking at_ her _?_

_Now_ she’s sure Octavia’s just messing with her.

“That’s so not true”

“It is!” exclaims Octavia, dropping her feet to the ground, banging them loudly against the wooden floor boards and raising her hands over her head, an exasperated look in her face “and the fact that you use the necklace only proves my point”

“Your point being?”

“That you and Lexa are in puppy-dog love with each other” says Octavia, smiling, satisfied that she can finally voice the theory she’d started to formulate since that first day.

Clarke genuinely laughs at this. _That’s so ridiculous!_ She thinks. But, then again, a part of her brain, the same part that finds Lexa hot and that wishes she could have hung onto the leather jacket for longer, thinks, _maybe it’s not_ that _ridiculous._

She pushes that thought away. Scary thoughts aren’t really helpful and she’s pretty sure she’s filled her quota of overthinking for the day, all thanks to her dear old mother.

“Octavia, you couldn’t be more wrong. We’re just friends, that’s all” says Clarke, once she finally stops laughing. She crosses her legs under herself, and smiles at Octavia, an eyebrow quirked defiantly.

Octavia’s smile had fallen just as Clarke’s had appeared and now she’s pouting at Clarke.

Her expression changes quickly though, her fast brain thinking of something and her mouth speaking it before she’s even finished formulating the thought.

“Just like you and Wells where ‘just friends’ who happened to snog from time to time?”

She regrets saying it the moment it leaves her mouth but she can’t take it back now. Clarke already heard it, and the hurt look in her eyes is all that takes for Octavia to start apologizing.

“Oh my god Clarke, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think” she starts. Clarke shakes her head, her hair shielding her closed eyes, pressed together to hold back the tears. The memories come tumbling into her mind and she can’t do anything to stop them.

“It’s okay O” her voice husky and raw.

Octavia feels truly awful so she stands up and crosses the small distance to her bed, sits down, and wraps her arms tightly around Clarke.

“I’m so sorry” she whispers.

“It’s okay Octavia, really” says Clarke after a few seconds. And her voice sounds better, more composed than before. Octavia pulls back and sees Clarke’s smiling faintly, even though her eyes are still rather sad.

“I’m sorry” she repeats, because she knows she can’t say it enough times.

Clarke snorts “Octavia, for the love of god, I said, it’s okay!”

And Octavia can see Clarke’s smile grow, so she smiles too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, as always, if you enjoyed, leave comments, or kudos, or whatever. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I really liked writting the interactions between Lexa, Lincoln, and Anya. I really like them. and O and Clarke too, or course
> 
> Anyways, see you soon guys XD


	6. Battle Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys don't know how sorry I am for posting this late but there's a reason. Well, two reasons.  
> Reason n. 1: I'm changing the update day to Tuesday cause honestly Mondays just don't like me. (and yes I'm aware Tuesday was yesterday)  
> Reason n. 2: I'm going to go to my grandparent's house for the next two weeks and there's no wi-fi there soooo I'm leaving you guys with not just one, but two Chapters to make up!! yay!!  
> so hope you like them :)
> 
> Trigger warnings: Bullying (idk if its a trigger but you can never be too safe), well mentions of Emotional Abuse and... I think that it. Please, enjoy.

**Friday 26 th of October, 09:56 AM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa tries to look away. She wills her eyes to steer clear of that blonde hair, of those deep, blue eyes. But then again, why should she?

There’s nothing wrong with staring. It only means she finds Clarke aesthetically pleasing, right? Just like Lincoln said.

“Hey, need a napkin to wipe all that droll there, Cap?” Octavia’s voice makes Lexa turn, though not before giving Clarke one last longing look. She should really stop with the longing looks.

She glares at Octavia, the smaller girl smirking at her in response. Octavia is probably one of the very few people Lexa can’t manage to intimidate easily.

“I wasn’t–” She starts but Octavia interrupts her.

“Save it Commander, I know what’s going on. Raven looks at Finn the same way” she smirks one last time before she falls serious and continues “I won’t tell though, I promise”

Lexa’s surprise is evident in her face. She feels her ears turn red and her fists to clench. _Was she that obvious? No,_ it can’t be, _because there’s nothing to be obvious about_. And yet, a strange relief fills her when she hears Octavia utter those words. She knows Octavia keeps her promises, no matter what. She won’t tell on her.

Lexa opens her mouth but the bell keeps her from answering her teammate who just nods at her before turning and loosing herself in the mass of students that walk to their classes.

***

**Friday 26 th of October, 11:43 AM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa’s sitting on the bleachers, enjoying an early lunch while she looks over the football field. A couple of students sit around. The closer ones are only a few steps below her. She recognizes Clarke’s friends Raven and Monty, among the bunch.

“Hey” says a voice right beside her. Lexa’s head wipes to the side, facing the stranger who’s now sitting beside her.

_How did I not notice her approaching?_

Lexa clears her throat and puts down her sandwich.

“Hello” she says.

The girl, with short blonde hair and big, round, brown eyes, is wearing a short, flower dress and a smile that could light up a small town, easily. She keeps her hands on her lap, fidgeting slightly. Lexa vaguely recognizes her as a sophomore, _or was it a freshmen?_

“I’m Cammie” she says, her smile never faltering “you’re Lexa right?”

“Yes, hi” says Lexa, wondering what this girl wants with her. The team’s tryouts were a month ago so that can’t be it. Something about the student council? She’s still Vice-president after all. But something tells her this isn’t something school related.

The girl scoots a little bit closer and Lexa stares at her, an eyebrow quirked.

“You’re really pretty” she whispers and Lexa can feel her neck going instantaneously red with heat. Still, her face and expression remain the same.

She clenches her jaw, thinking over what her response should be.

“Thanks” she says dryly, offering an unsure half-smile.

Cammie’s smile widens.

Out of the corner of her eye Lexa sees Clarke approaching the group below. She catches her eye, but Clarke looks away immediately and Lexa could swear she sees her blush slightly.

She turns back to Cammie.

“So, I was thinking maybe we could, like, hang out or something, sometime?” She’s saying as she scoots even closer to Lexa, who starts feeling rather uncomfortable with all the invading-private-space-thing going on “I would really like to get to know you better”

And from the way Cammie’s looking at Lexa’s lips and the way her hands now rest on the bench, millimeters away from Lexa’s thigh, Lexa’s sure there won’t be much talking if they get together.  Not from Cammie’s end, at least.

“Sorry, but” she says quickly as she stands up and sees Cammie’s face fall, her smile disappearing “I’m very busy with homework and the football team. But it was nice to meet you, Cammie”

***

**Friday 26 th of October, 01:21 PM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke pull out her phone and checks it. It’s been two days since the last time she dropped by at her house. Only five days since her last exchange with her mom. She can’t believe so little time has passed. For Clarke it feels like ages.

She’s got two messages from Bellamy. Apparently Octavia commented on how Clarke had been spending the last two nights in a row at her place so now _he_ ’s worried. She dismisses it, making a mental note to call him and explain everything later on.

There’s a couple of more messages but Clarke ignores them too. She’s about to lock the phone and pocket it when a name in the screen catches her eyes. _Mom._

It’s a voicemail.

Clarke’s insides immediately start turning and a lump forms in her throat. She raises her hand and asks Mr. Dun, her art teacher, if she can go to the bathroom. Even though he’s got a no-bathroom policy, Clarke’s his best student and she’s already finished with her piece, so he lets her go.

As soon as the door to the bathroom is closed behind her, Clarke pulls her phone out and dials the voicemail’s number.

A few seconds of static before her mother’s voice breaks the silence.

She sounds tired and anxious.

_Clarke I– I’m really sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to tell you. Please, honey, come home. I didn’t mean everything I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please Baby, I’m begging you, come home… or at least answer your phone, just so I can hear your voice again. Clarke, I miss you. Don’t let our family break apart completely. We’re all that’s left for each other._

Silence.

Clarke’s about to hang up when her mother’s voice interrupts again.

_I’m sorry._

The line goes dead and Clarke feels thick, hot tears well up in her eyes. She lets them run, feeling all the insecurity and guilt that had been building up tumble down. She sobs loudly, leaning with her hands on the sink, her phone clenches tightly on her left hand.

_How could I do this to her?_

A sound from behind startles her, making her turn. Lexa’s standing there, her hand still on the door knob, her eyes opened wide.

Clarke turns around immediately, not wanting her to see her like this. She’s a mess and she knows it. She also knows Lexa knows it and that she understands, that she doesn’t need to hide from her. But the mental image of the blonde practically sitting on Lexa’s lap at lunch time pops inside her head and she shakes it, a loud sob escaping her mouth. _She isn’t Lexa’s, and Lexa isn’t hers. They’re nothing more than friends._

“Clarke” but her voice sounds like a warm blanket covering her, and gentle hands rubbing her sides. It feels like worn out leather seats and the sound of rain hitting against metal and glass.

She feels Lexa’s tentative hand rest on her shoulder but she shakes it away.

Brown, round eyes and full lips drooling all over Lexa.

_Her Lexa._

“I’m okay” says Clarke, and it comes out harsher than she intended it to be. She knows, or at least the rational part of her brain does, that she shouldn’t be angry at Lexa. But she can’t help thinking of that girl. It’s stupid and pure nonsense. It’s not like her and Lexa are dating or anything. But the minute that small preppy girl entered Lexa’s personal space, Clarke’s blood boiled. It made her suddenly realize Lexa’s not _just_ hers. That she could someday lose the girl that had, unknowingly, become her safety blanket. Her ray of light on a rainy day. Her home.

And of course it doesn’t help that her mother’s voicemail got her this upset and she can barely think straight anymore.

“No, you’re not, Clarke” and it’s the way she says her name that finally makes her click.

Clarke turns and, without thinking, storms past Lexa, out the bathroom and down the hall.

That sudden realization hits her along with fear. Fear of the closeness between the two. Fear of depending so much on a single person. This is nothing like what Clarke had had with anyone, not even her dad, or Bellamy. It is new territory, and it’s scary, cause it’s close, and personal, and raw, and frail. So frail. Preppy blonde girl showed her just how frail this thing she has with Lexa is, how easy it could go away.

She runs out of the school’s main building and heads for the back of the gym, where she’s sure nobody will find her, where she’s sure she’ll loose Lexa. The loud beating of her heart is the only thing she hears. That, and the sound of her shoes hitting against pavement.

Once she reaches the short stairs that lead to the gym’s back door, she drops herself and buries her face in her hands.

She puts Lexa aside for a moment and thinks of her mother. Pounders over her actions. Did she over react when she started avoiding her? Were her mother’s words really that bad? She remembers then vividly, and feels as if someone was squeezing her heart every time she played them over in her head. But, where they really that hurtful? Or was she just being a wimp about it?

Clarke sighs. Of course, it wasn’t only that time. There are countless other conversations that should be taken into consideration where the words _dyke_ and _unnatural_ , among others, where uttered, and not in a nice tone, either. Of course, her mother always managed to turn the argument around, guilt-tripping Clarke into forgiving her. That made her furious.

_Wait, backtrack a second there. Guilt-tripping?_

It strikes her, hard. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, but she knows it now. Her mother, even since her father had died, had done this. And Clarke only notices it now.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

It feels awful, nauseating even, to think her own mother could do something like that, but it was the only explanation. The only explanation for all the times Clarke came back home, apologizing for starting an argument she hadn’t, in fact, started. Or for doing something even the slightest bit _dyke-ish_.

She hears steps coming closer and wipes her eyes one last time. She makes a decision right there and then. Her mother won’t be able to affect her, not anymore. She locks whatever feelings she had for her in a dark corner of her heart and throws away the metaphorical key. She won’t suffer again, not by her hand, not anymore.

She stands just as Lexa appears round the corner.

“Clarke” she says, her voice almost broken, the moment she spots her. She looks extremely concerned and out of breath. Clarke thinks briefly of Preppy blonde girl and feels a wave of anxiety overwhelm her. But she pushes it down and hopes that the look Lexa’s giving her is enough. That her concern is enough to keep her around. That what they’ve got, whatever it is, is stronger than some flimsy freshman.

Once she convinces herself, she pushes those doubts away. There’s something she needs to talk about with Lexa and she won’t let that girl ruin it.

“Hey Lexa” says Clarke. She motions for the steps behind her and Lexa sits. Clarke follows.

They stay silent for a moment. Clarke thinks over what she wants to tell Lexa and Lexa simply waits, confident in that if Clarke wants to talk, she will, at her own time. That doesn’t keep her from stealing concerned looks at Clarke’s face every couple of seconds. Or from repeatedly tapping her boot on the steps bellow.

“I got a voicemail from my mom” spats out Clarke, finally breaking the silence.

Lexa looks up, suddenly still. They hadn’t touched the subject again since what happened at Lexa’s home, but Lexa had been irking to ask.

It seemed her answer was coming now.

“What did it say?” she asks in a whisper.

“She asked me to come home”

Lexa’s brows knit and Clarke smiles. It’s not a common thing to see a confused Lexa, and she looks kind of cute.

“I’ve been staying over at Octavia’s for the past two nights” she explains “I just can’t face her after what happened”

Lexa nods.

“What happened, Clarke?”

Clarke draws in a breath, preparing. She lets it out and says “We fought. We fought and I- and I realized our relationship’d turned toxic the minute my father died”

Lexa’s eyes widen, but she locks her jaw and nods again.

“What are you going to do now?” her voice sounds so soft.

Clarke looks away.

“If the offer still stands, I would like to… to run away” She hears Lexa’s breath hitch and she smiles again “With you”

She looks back at Lexa and sees a small smile creeping up her full lips.

“But we have to think it through, and plan, and we can’t rush into it, of course. And we have to make sure we chose someone to replace us as student body President and Vice-president, and as team Captain, and all of that. We can’t just leave our people leaderless”

Lexa’s nodding vigorously, her smile’s widening by the second.

“Of course”

Clarke sighs, nodding too. She feels kind of relieved. She’s sure now, this is what she wants to do. This is the right choice.

“Where should we go?” asks Clarke after a few seconds of silence.

“California” says Lexa immediately. Her eyes are a deep, dark, green, determined and confident.

Clarke raises an eyebrow at her “You seem pretty sure ‘bout that. What’s in California?”

Lexa blushes slightly, and _damn_ , thinks Clarke _, flustered Lexa is way cuter than confused Lexa_. She’s almost forgot about the preppy blonde thing, by now. Though her mother is still lingering in her brain and her stomach has yet to unclench. Though the feelings are gone and she’s sure about her decision, she can’t help thinking what the older woman would think about what she was saying.

“I have an Aunt there, and a good friend” she responds “They could help us”

Clarke nods, thinking it over. The trip would be about two whole days by car. She guesses they would need to stop and rest and whatnot, so that would make it around three days, at least. Doable.

“What about college and school?”

“Gustus works at an art institute that doesn’t really ask for SAT results, you just have to pass the preliminary tests”

“You’re assuming I want to study art”

“Isn’t that what you want to study?”

Clarke hesitates, but Lexa continues before she can get anything out.

“If your mother had no say in it”

A few moments of silence follow before Clarke answers.

“Fair enough. Yes, art would be my number one option”

Lexa smiles arrogantly and lightly bumps her shoulder against Clarke. Clarke returns the bump a little harder to try and get the smug look out of her face. No such luck.

“And you?” she continues.

“I was accepted in an accelerated program at Stanford to study Political Science. I can start next semester if I want to”

“You thought this through didn’t you?” asks Clarke, teasingly “a lot”

“…maybe”

Clarke laughs and Lexa pouts and, seriously, _how cute can she get?_

“So, when should we leave?” asks Lexa, and she looks dead-serious, so Clarke straightens herself a little and thinks.

When would her mother less notice? The first thing that pops into her mind is Halloween. At the hospital they throw an annual Halloween party and, last time, her mother drank so much she passed out and only woke up the next day at around three in the afternoon. Clarke guesses this year won’t be any different. And of course there would be Kane to distract her.

“What do you think of Halloween?”

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her, skeptical, but then nods.

“Okay, Halloween it is”

“We should meet at Finn’s party” starts Clarke, the plan already forming in her head “that way no one will suspect if we leave in your car. And by the time someone notices we’re gone, we’ll be about a hundred miles away anyways”

“Good idea” says Lexa.

She opens her mouth to say something else but the faint sound of the bell ringing startles.

***

**Friday 26th of October, 03:47 PM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa closes her locker with a slam and starts walking down the hall to the school’s exit.

She’s excited.

She knows it’ll be a hard-ass trip and a hard-ass life if they make it, even with Gustus’ and Aunt Indra’s help. But she cannot help the feelings of excitement that bumble up in her gut at the moment. She’s still on that period of high, before the overthinking turns the whole idea into a real, hard, and frankly scary, decision.

She’s about to turn the corner into the exit when a voice stops her.

“- and Cammie was so scared. Like, imagine, this huge, punk-ass dyke coming on to you? I bet she would have knifed her if she hadn’t run. Honestly, like, they should do something ‘bout her”

It’s a freshman, Lexa can see him out of the corner of her eye. He’s standing off to one side, leaning on a pillar, talking to a small, frail-looking, pretty girl. He’s obviously a jock, full of himself and talking bullshit to impress the girl. His words aren’t even worth a crap. Still, Lexa stands still and listens on.

“Yeah, I know, I’m gonna call Cam later, she must be so scared. I don’t even know what _I_ would have done in her place”

“Yeah, and did you hear what she did last year?”

Lexa sees the girl shake her head, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“I heard she forced this other girl to go out with her. And when the girl finally refused, I heard she was so furious she crashed their car. The girl _died_ ”

Something takes over Lexa.

Usually, when she hears comments like those, she would just bush them off, walk away, and never think of them again. She’s comfortable enough in her own skin to know they’re in the wrong, not her. And, actually, she rather enjoys knowing younger kids feared someday she might pull a knife on them, especially when she knows she would never do that. She knows that other kids like the boy’s opinions don’t matter. She knows her friends, the football team, her aunt, they stood with her. _They’re_ the ones that matter. So why should she care for such petty little boys like him?

Only he had overstepped. He had talked about _her_.

_Nobody_ was allowed to talk about her.

_Much_ less in that way.

Lexa’s fist connects with the pillar, millimeters from the boy’s face, before she regains control over her rage. She hears them draw in breaths at the same time. The boy’s eyes are glued to her fist and the girl’s got her hands over her mouth. They stand still as Lexa takes in a deep breath, staring both of them down in turns.

“Your friend came onto _me_ , and I turned her down”

Her voice is barely over a controlled whisper, and the whole ordeal passes unnoticed among the mess that is a high school hallway at the end of the day. But still, Lexa doesn’t want to cause a scene. A scene would mean the whole school against her, and maybe Lincoln and Anya, if they haven’t already gone home. It would also mean confirming the rumors. Which is almost as bad as facing down a whole school full of homophobes and religious cunts. Actually, it would lead to facing down a whole school full of homophobes and religious cunts.

She pulls back her fist, dusts her jacket, and, with a last death-glare towards the boy, she says “and the girl who died? _None_ of your business”

She walks away with clenched fists.

“Fucking dyke” he mutters under his breath, and Lexa has to actually stop in her tracks, close her eyes, bite her tongue, and run over all the consequences in her head, one by one, to stop herself from going back there and kicking the crap out of him.

_He’s not worth it._

_He’s not worth it._

_He’s not worth it._

Once she’s sure she won’t do it, she opens her eyes and continues down the hall and to the exit.

_He’s not worth it._

At the parking lot, most cars are gone. She immediately spots hers. For a moment, a pang of nausea overwhelms her at the memory of red painting and a flower patterned sun dress laying on top. She shakes her head and looks for Clarke, but the blonde hair is nowhere to be seen. That’s when her phone vibrates and she pulls it out. The text’s from princess herself.

_Sorry, took a lift from Raven. Had 2 go do project @ her house. See ya 2morrow?_

_Sure._ she texts back. Sighing, she pockets the phone and heads for the Camaro. _Such an eventful day_ , she thinks. _Hopefully, it won’t be as eventful once I get home._


	7. The Beguining Of The Rest Of Our Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> there's not much to say here except for trigger warnings so here they are.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Physical, Parental Abuse (it's kinda nasty, sorry).

**Wednesday 31 st of October, 05:34 PM. Washington D.C.**

They’ve been planning all week. How long it’ll take. Where to stop. What to do if the cops catch them. Clarke asked Lexa to give her all the money she has so she can count it, along with Clarke’s, and see if the trip is doable, with gas and food and all (it is). Their first stop will be Nashville, where they’ll spend the night. Then, they’ll travel to Oklahoma and stay there. After that, to Albuquerque, and from there to L.A.

Its long ass trip – four days – but Lexa’s sure this is her only option, her only opportunity. She is lucky enough that Clarke agreed to come. And, even now, after they’ve planned everything, Lexa’s scared that Clarke will back out any minute. She’s sure she and her mother will make up and Lexa will be left alone again.

_Don’t think that way_ , she keeps telling herself.

But she can’t shake the feeling away. Even now, that she’s packing all her clothes into her rucksack, she can’t help doubting Clarke.

She knows she shouldn’t. She trusts her, with anything. Clarke’s one of the few people Lexa knows will always keep their promises. And Clarke promised Lexa.

And still, she can’t help think maybe Clarke would be better off ditching Lexa. After all, everything she touches dies. But then Clarke’s mom comes into frame and Lexa decides to let the choosing to Clarke. If Clarke choses to die at the hands of Lexa’s curse, then so be it.

***

**Wednesday 31 st of October, 05:35 PM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke runs her fingers through her hair for the fifth time since she arrived at Finn’s house, ten minutes ago. She’s sure someone will notice how fidgety she’s been and ask, and then she won’t be able to stop herself from spilling the beans. But she can’t help it. Every minute of every day since Friday has been consumed by planning and over-thinking.

She’s packed her things three times before coming here. She’s checked the meeting time with Lexa about five times during the day. One–thirty in the morning, when the party would be at its best. When everyone would be at least half-drunk and nobody would notice or question why Clarke would be leaving early with Lexa.

“Hey Clarke!” Raven’s voice snaps Clarke out of her daze and she looks up from the counter top. She had been sitting there, drinking a soda, as all her friends buzzed about, getting everything ready.

“What?”

“I said, can you help me out with this drinks?” says Raven, a box of beers in each arm. Clarke jumps immediately, a smile on her face, and goes to help her.

***

**Wednesday 31 st of October, 07:02 PM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa’s sitting on her desk, writing down a letter for Lincoln, Anya, Nyko, and Echo to explain what will happen, when she hears a loud bang from downstairs. She closes her eyes and clenches her jaw, gritting her pen in her hand and praying to a god she doesn’t believe in that it’s not her father.

Again, said god disappoints her.

She hears his loud, clumsy footsteps go up the stairs and she prepares herself, mentally.

Her room’s door opens suddenly and Lexa jumps in her chair.

Dad’s standing there, a bottle of Vodka tightly gripped in his hand and a scowl in his face.

His shirt is stained and untucked, his tie gone. His hair is messy and Lexa can smell the alcohol in his breath all the way from across the room. He steps closer and Lexa stands.

“Alexandria” he says, out of breath.

“Dad”

“Where’s your mother? She should be here by now” he looks confused for a moment and Lexa sighs.

“She’s gone dad” she says. She’s been asked this question millions of times before and, no matter what she responds, she always ends up suffering the consequences of her mother not being there.

He scrunches his eyebrows together and swipes a drink from his bottle.

“You’re lying” he states, spit flying out of his mouth. He steps closer and throws the bottle hard against the wall. Lexa winces as it breaks into a billion pieces.

“No dad” she states gritting her teeth, feeling fear and anger bubble inside her.

She shouldn’t feel scared, she knows. She should only feel love towards her own father. But then again, her father shouldn’t blame _her_ for everything wrong that’s happened in _his_ life.

“It’s the truth. She left three years ago” she hears her voice shake and feels her palms starts to sweat.

“No!” he screams and lunges at her. Lexa’s arms raise instantaneously to shield her face but her father’s blow still connects with her left hand’s knuckles and she feels pain exploding there.

“She’s gone dad!” She pleads, but she knows he won’t hear it.

“You’re a liar!” he swings again and, even though his movements are sluggish and clumsy, Lexa’s fear holds her back from defending herself. He slaps her and, without a minutes hesitation, proceeds to punch her in the gut, knocking the air out of her. Lexa fall to her knees and only manages to see a glimpse of her father’s shoe before it connects with her nose.

She falls back and hits her head with the chair, feeling consciousness slipping out.

She closes her eyes and prays for it all to be over. Hot tears start rolling down her cheeks and the metal taste of blood fills her mouth. Her father kicks again, this time at the ribs. And again, and again, and again.

***

She wakes up dizzy with aching and the smell of blood and alcohol. Her hands slip on a pool of her own blood as she tries to stand. Once she finally pushes herself up, excruciating pain erupts from every single fiber of her body as gravity makes her dizzy again. The worse, though, is her face, her hand, and her chest.

She runs to her bathroom and strips immediately, to assess the damage.

Her nose is probably broken, by the looks of it. Her knuckle’s pretty bad, swollen and purple, but not broken. She touches her ribs, all bruised by now, and winces. But they too, aren’t broken, though she winces in pain every time she takes a breath. She searches the rest of her body but finds only a few bruises in her knees and elbows, nothing more.

She checks the time.

**00:45 AM.**

Lexa panics. She should already be at Finn’s party. Clarke must be worried that Lexa has backed down from their agreement. She cleans herself up as fast as she can, slipping into new clothes – since the ones she was using are now covered in her nose’s blood – and rummages through the bathroom cabinet.

She finds the painkillers and dry-swallows a few. Then, she picks her rucksack from her closet, her laptop and Lincoln’s note, and opens her door. She hears faint sobs coming from her father’s bedroom and guesses he’ll probably fall asleep soon. The thought of leaving him, too, a note crosses her mind, but she decides against it. There’s nothing worth saying anyways. Not anymore.

Opening the front door as quietly as she can, she slips out. She hurries to her car, every step shooting agonizing pain throughout her body and the cold of the night numbing her exposed skin, and, after throwing everything on the trunk except for the note – which is safely tucked inside her leather jacket’s pocket – she climb in.

She stays there for a few seconds, her hands shaking slightly and her breath ragged. Her heart’s pounding, her body feels sore, and she knows the faint coat of make-up she managed to apply over her bruises won’t be enough to hide them. Maybe with the darkness of the party yes, but, after that, when it’s just her and Clarke in her car, she’s pretty sure Clarke will notice.

***

**Thursday the 1 st of October, 00:59 AM. Washington D.C.**

Clarke’s pacing up and down Finn’s basement. There’s a couple of people, Monty and Jaspers among them, chain smoking by the small window at the end of the room. A few others are sitting on the couch, chatting, while Clarke’s friends, Monroe and Roma, are making out on the corner.

Her mind’s running at about a hundred miles per hour but she still can’t find a reason for Lexa, ever punctual Lexa, to be late, other than that she chickened out.

She feels her anxiety levels grow and her stomach clenches, the amazingly small amount of alcohol in it not nearly enough to relax her.

She decides to go up and look for another drink, when Finn bumps into her at the stairs.

“Hey!” he says. He’s wearing a Sexy Conan costume, his chest bare and his neck showing off the multiple number of hickeys Raven has already left there. He smiles at Clarke dopily and flickers his hair back.

“Hey Finn” says Clarke, looking away. She feels his hot breath against her skin and notes how freaking close he’s standing, only one step higher than she is.

“Enjoying the party?” he whispers. Clarke looks him in the eye and smiles.

“Sure” she says, and notes the knot in her stomach tightening when she remembers Lexa has still not arrived.

“Good” he leans closer, his eyes closed and his mouth dangerously close to hers.

“Finn” says Clarke and he hums in response, leaning in yet closer.

Clarke, straightening a little and pulling back, says “Finn!” more forcefully. His eyes snap open and he looks strangely sad.

“Raven must be waiting for you” she says sternly, reminding him he still has a girlfriend.

“She can wait a little longer” his words slurring together. He closes his eyes again and starts leaning in but Clarke’s hand in his lips stops him.

“Finn, I’m not kissing you, if that’s what you want”

“You kissed me before” he pouts and Clarke winces at the memory. Yes, she had fallen for Finn, but that was a long time ago. Once she learned about him and Raven, she had cut it all off immediately. Sadly, Finn was still rather hung up on her. Though he only showed it when he was drunk.

Clarke desperately wanted to tell Raven but, apart from the fact that it would hurt her as hell and she would probably blame Clarke in her rage, Finn always apologized once he had sobered up and promised not to do it again. He loved Raven, that was obvious, but he wasn’t good enough for her.

“Yeah, but back then I didn’t know about you and Raven”

“Then forget about Raaaaven” his voice was slurred and he was smiling confidently “C’moooon Princess”

He reaches up and tugs a strand of her hair behind her ear but Clarke hits his hand and he pulls away.

“No, Finn. I won’t betray her again” she pushes past him and climbs what is left of the stairs. She heads for the kitchen, which is almost as crowded as the rest of the house. In there, people, some in costumes and some in normal clothes, are chatting and drinking, loudly. Exactly what she needs, a distraction from her current situation.

Clarke’s about to pour herself a drink when a hand appears over her cup and stops her, the bottle of Vodka left hanging midair.

“Griffin” says Octavia, looking at her seriously “We need to talk”

_This is it, I’m caught_ , she thinks. Octavia nods with her head towards the kitchen door and Clarke follows her out and up the stairs, into Finn’s room.

Octavia sits in his bed and pats the spot beside her. Clarke sits.

“So, are you gonna tell me what the hell’s up or will I have to torture you?”

“Nothing” says Clarke, and not even she believes herself.

“C’mon Clarke, this is not like you. You barely even touched the Beer Pong table, and I haven’t seen you in the dance floor at all tonight. Where’s Party Animal Clarke Griffin?” Octavia stares at her for a moment before slapping her arm “Tell me!”

Clarke chuckles, playing along her own scam, and rubs her arm.

“Nothing O, I promise, I’m just feeling a little bit out of it, that’s all”

She feels nervousness prickle at the tip of her fingers, her stomach clenching slightly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep”

“Don’t quote Spider-man at me”

“Tell me what’s going on!”

“Nothing’s going on!”

By now the volume of the conversation has raised and Octavia stands up. Clarke, on the other hand, lets herself fall back on the bed, shielding her face with her hands, no longer amused by Octavia’s resolution to understand. _Can’t she just fucking back off?_

“Clarke, I know you, remember? Best friend forever, a promise we made in first grade, 12 fucking years ago, and we don’t break our promises, right?”

Clarke looks away.

“I’m worried Clarke” pleads Octavia, her voice back to a normal volume.

Clarke can hear the music blasting from downstairs but it does nothing to appease the tense silence that fills the room.

“Don’t be” says Clarke.

“Sorry, not an option”

Clarke straightens and looks up, wondering if she’s strong enough to lie to her best friend like this.

“I’m running away”

_Looks like she’s not._

She looks at Octavia and sees her mouth hanging open. Her heavy made-up eyes – a vague attempt to dress as Bonnie (Lincoln was Clyde) – as wide as plates.

“What?” she stutters out.

“Tonight” continues Clarke “I have no other choice. Mom’s killing me slowly with her comments and screams and I think I really have a shot. We made a plan and everything”

She’s trying to excuse herself, she knows it. She’s making up excuses because she knows she’s leaving them all behind, and that will hurt them.

“What?” repeats Octavia “A plan? Wait, _we?_ Who’s we?”

_Really?_

Clarke rolls her eyes but can’t help a smile. This annoys Octavia even more.

“Clarke” she warns, stepping closer.

Clarke stands and says “Lexa”

Octavia’s eyebrows shot up and a smirk replaces her pursed lips.

“And I know what you’re gonna say but” says Clarke “I don’t know. She offered and it just feels so _right_ , you know?”

Clarke hears the alarm in her wristwatch and looks down.

**01:20 AM.**

Lexa should already be here.

She curses under her breath and looks up at Octavia who’s smiling at her.

“But it looks like someone’s planning on standing me up”

Octavia ignores her comment and, throwing a punch in the air, screams “Fuckin’ knew it!”

Clarke rolls her eyes. She’s about to say something when her phone vibrates in her jacket’s pocket. She pulls it out with a shaking hand and, seeing Lexa’s number, sighs with relief.

She answers.

“Clarke?” Lexa’s voice isn’t right. It sounds huskier and out of breath.

“Lexa? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing” and it sound just as fake and Clarke’s previous ‘nothing’s.

“Where are you?” asks Lexa.

“At the party, in Finn’s room, with Octavia. Where are you?”

“At the front door”

“I’m coming” says Clarke before hanging up.

She turns to Octavia who’s practically beaming with happiness.

“What?” asks Clarke.

“You and Lexa are in puppy-dog love and are running away together! It’s a fucking love story! Fucking better than fucking Romeo and Juliet man!”

Clarke rolls her eyes one last time before pulling Octavia in for a hug. She buries her face in the shorter girl’s hair and tries to take in as much as she can of Octavia. Clarke’s afraid it’ll be a long time before she sees her best friend again.

“You gotta call” says Octavia, her voice sounds watery now “After you settle down somewhere nice and stable”

“Of course. I promise”

“And you’ll let me visit?”

Clarke nods vigorously.

They pull apart and Clarke sees tears in Octavia’s smiling face.

“I’ll miss you O”

“Me too Clarke”

Clarke leans down and places a small kiss on Octavia’s forehead. Then, she turns, not sure if she’ll be able to contain her own tears.

She about to cross the threshold when Octavia call “Wait Clarke! Where are you headed?”

“California”

***

**Thursday the 1 st of November, 01:24 AM. Washington D.C.**

Lexa’s tapping her foot on the wooden floor, her arms crossed over her chest. Her vision wanders over the crowd around her, nervous. She’s sure one of them will spot the bruises, or the red rimming her eyes. She leans back on the wall and waits, covered mostly in shadows. Clarke should be around here, somewhere, but she said she would come to her, and so Lexa waits.

She suddenly remembers her note and starts scanning the crowd for Lincoln, too.

A few minutes later she spots him, dancing around, an old fedora-styled hat in his hands. She walks towards him and pulls him by his old-fashioned suit until they’re standing back in the receiver.

Lincoln stares at her, a dopey smile in his lips. Drunk, for sure.

“Lincoln” says Lexa.

“Lexa” her name sounds more of a _‘Leksssha’_ in his slurry voice.

She fishes into her pocket and pulls out the neatly folded note.

“I know you’re drunk right now, but I want you to keep this someplace safe. And don’t read it until you wake up tomorrow morning, clear?”

Lincoln scrunches his eyebrows together but nods all the same.

“Will do” he smiles at her and takes the note, slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“And Lincoln?”

He has already turned and started towards the dance floor, but he turns around again and raises his eyebrows “You’re – You’re like a brother to me, I just wanted you to know that”

He smiles and winks at her, giving her a thumbs up before heading back towards the dance floor where Octavia appears out of nowhere and wraps her arms around him, kissing him sloppily.

Clarke appears too, at the top of the stairs, and Lexa’s heart makes a weird kind of dance in her chest.

Clarke spots her and smiles.

She walks down towards her and Lexa sees a pack slung over her shoulders and a sport’s bag in her hand.

“Ready?” she asks once they’re next to each other.

Clarke’s smile widens and Lexa feels butterflies in her stomach. All thoughts of her father were flung out the window the second her eyes found Clarke’s.

“Only if you are”

Lexa nods and offers a smile that hurts her whole face. But she barely even feels it. For Clarke, she feels like she could smile a hundred times and it’d still be worth the pain.

“Let’s go then” says Clarke turning towards the door. She pulls it open and the cold air of the night swipes in, cooling Lexa’s aching and hot body. _Parties are too hot._

Before she thinks it through, Lexa picks Clarke’s bag from her hands, their fingers brushing together for a moment longer than normal. Blushing, she heads for the car.

Clarke follows behind, her cheeks flustered. Lexa tells herself it’s because of the temperature of the party, nothing else.

She pops open the trunk and heaves the bag inside. Clarke does the same with her pack.

“Nothing else?” asks Lexa, and Clarke looks back, a sad expression taking over her face for a few moments before she looks back at Lexa. Her eyes have a deep, dark blue color, almost black in the dim light on the street laps.

Clarke shakes her head.

“Still sure about this?” Asks Lexa, ready to hear that Clarke changed her mind. But instead, Clarke smiles and raises an eyebrow, teasingly.

“You chickening out Lex?”

Lexa catches her flirt and doesn’t hesitate in saying “No. I was just making sure _you_ weren’t chickening out”

It’s weak but Clarke smiles nonetheless.

“Let’s go then” She reaches out and grabs Lexa’s hand, sending electric current up her whole arm. She squeezes it and, be it any other time, Lexa would have been delighted, but right then she can’t help wince as Clarke’s fingers wrap around her swollen knuckles.

Clarke lets go immediately, looking down, concern coating her face. But Lexa hides her hand behind her back. She can see her hot breath misting the cold air in front of her and concentrates on that, as the pain recedes.

“Are you okay?” asks Clarke. Lexa nods and turns to the car, opening the shot gun door and motioning for Clarke to get in. She avoids her eyes and as soon as Clarke’s inside, she shuts the door and runs to the other side, climbing in and starting the car.

***

**Thursday the 1 st of November, 02:56 AM. Outsides of Washington D.C.**

They’re driving through the highway. The traffic’s light, no more than a couple of cars in the lanes beside theirs. Clarke tries to relax. They made it, they finally made it. And, surprisingly, nothing went wrong.

Except something _did_ go wrong.

Clarke can’t keep her eyes away from Lexa’s hand. Her knuckles are purple and swollen, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off the road since they boarded the car. The silence is tense and Clarke can’t help notice everything Lexa does. She looks uncomfortable, shifting in her seat every few minutes and wincing afterwards. She’s never seen her like this and she’s worried. She can see the wound in the bridge of her nose now, and the bruises that surround it are unmistakable, even with the light make-up she’s applied in efforts to hide them. But Clarke’s afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer she’ll get.

_Who could do something like this to_ Lexa? _Strong and stoic Lexa?_

Finally, half an hour later, as they make their way west through endless fields covered in the darkness of the night, Clarke manages the courage to break the silence.

“Lex” she says tentatively, and Lexa looks at her for the first time in the two and a half hours they’ve been driving. And Clarke’s surprised of what she sees. Lexa’s eyes are watery, her jaw set and her lips pursed.

“What happened?”

“I– nothing” she looks back towards the road and Clarke mentally rolls her eyes at the stubborn girl.

“Lexa” she presses, placing a hand over Lexa’s arm. Lexa looks back at her surprised before turning back to the road.

Clarke sees Lexa take in a small, shivering breath before turning her eyes briefly to hers.

“Clarke” she responds in a neutral tone. But she’s put a mask now, Clarke can see it as clear as water. She can’t fool her.

“ _Lexa_ ” Clarke’s not about to give up, not yet.

“Clarke” Lexa changes her tone, mock sternness coating it. It makes Clarke frown. She’s doesn’t need joking Lexa right now, she needs serious Lexa.

“Lexa stop it!”

“Stop what?” a fake innocent look takes over Lexa’s face, along with an amuse half-smile. But Clarke can see the sadness in her eyes. Her mask’s breaking.

“Lexa!” Clarke hits her shoulder playfully, playing along to Lexa’s game. She lets a fake laugh escapes her mouth and Lexa’s smile widens.

“No but, seriously” says Clarke after a moment “Is everything okay?”

Lexa thinks it over a moment before looking back at her and saying “Yes. Everything is fine now”

Her eyes aren’t watery anymore and her smile still lingers on her lips. She takes one hand – the one without the bruises – away from the steering wheel and picks Clarke’s, squeezing it lightly before returning her eyes to the dark road. She still seems sad but not as sad as before, if that’s even possible to imagine.

“Good” says Clarke, squeezing it back. It’s not exactly an answer but it’s something. And you’ve got to start somewhere.

For Clarke, this is as good a start as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah! Hope you liked it, please leave kudos and comments, if you wish. I take in any request or suggestion, so don't be shy. Also, there won't be an updates for the next two weeks cause I'm gonna be without internet, so yeah. But after i return the shedule will continue as always :) hope you have a great day and an ever better week, bye!
> 
> Love you, guys XD


	8. A Train That'll Take You Far, Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK! Hello everybody! sorry for not posting yesterday but i was just fixing up some stuff about the chapter and suddenly it was past midnight so...  
> Anyways, here it is! Please, enjoy :)

**Wednesday the 1 st of November, 08:34 AM. Somewhere outside Columbus, Ohio.**

The smell of burnt metal wakes Clarke up. She scrunches her nose and opens her eyes. The bright morning light hurts them and so she raises up a hand to shield them. She looks around, squinting, and panics at the unfamiliar surroundings for a moment before remembering the events of the night before. She looks to the seat beside her but finds Lexa’s gone. She looks outside the car and sees they’ve pulled to the side of the road, cars zooming by to her left. A large field of grass and train tracks to her right. Her frontal vision is blocked by the Camaro’s opened hood.

She hears a loud groan from the front followed by the loud clang of metal against metal. Clarke opens the door and steps out. She finds Lexa leaning with her hands against the open hood of the car, her jacket discarded on the dusty floor, her face and toned arms covered in grease. There’s a faint column of smoke coming out of the car. Clarke steps closer and the smell intensifies.

“What the hell happened?” she asks, covering her nose and coughing a little.

“The car overheated” says Lexa without looking up. She sounds tired and defeated.

Clarke steals a small glace towards Lexa’s knuckles, which are just as purple as the night before, before leaning in and assessing the situation.

Truth be told, she knows very little of cars and motors, but from the smell and all the heat the car’s expelling, it’s clearly not going to work for a couple of days, at least.

_Perfect, just perfect._

“Can’t you do something about it? Or call someone?” asks Clarke, trying to find a way out of this. Frustration crawling its way up her throat, but she pushes it down, and thinks rationally.

Lexa scoffs, finally looking up. She’s cleaned all the make-up and now Clarke can fully see her broken nose and the bruises that spread out from there to her eyes and cheeks.

She looks awful and Clarke’s stomach twists with concern. But she keeps quiet about it, not wanting to fall into the same conversation they had last night.

“Who am I going to call?” she says bitterly “We run away, remember? Nobody knows we’re here”

Clarke frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lexa sighs and weaves her fingers through her unruly hair, combing it back.

“Besides, there’s nothing to be done” she continues “We’ll need another vehicle or else we are stuck here”

Clarke’s throat tightens. Somehow, in the spam of barely five minutes, her whole trip, her only escape route, comes crumbling down. She turns around, willing her brain to come up with an alternative.

“So we’re fucked” she mutters.

“Pretty much”

The distant whistle of a train makes Clarke look up and suddenly, an idea forms in her head. She rushes to the trunk and opens in, shouldering her pack and bag in a second.

“I know what to do” she says picking Lexa’s rucksack too.

“What?” asks Lexa, her tone mockingly amused, frowning at the dirt under her boots.

“We ditch the car and board that beauty coming over there” she points to the barely visible train, growing bigger on the horizon.

“What?” Lexa looks up now, her brow scrunching up in confusion.

“The train can take us, right? Isn’t that how old-fashioned runaways moved around?” Clarke searches Lexa’s face for some sort of hope. She knows it’s a really reckless and stupid decision, but she can’t help feeling like she’s got to salvage this trip, no matter what.

“Clarke I can’t just leave my car in the middle of nowhere. I only finished rebuilding it a few months ago”

“Can’t you call someone to come pick it up? Someone you trust” pleas Clarke. The train is coming closer and she knows their opportunity could slip away as fast as it appeared.

Lexa pounders over it for a moment before nodding “Alright”

Clarke feels her lips curling up in a grin as she throws Lexa’s rucksack at her. The other girl seizes it midair, closes the hood, and locks the car. Picking the jacket, they both make their way closer to the tracks.

The train’s nearly there by now, and Clarke can feel expectation and adrenaline flooding her veins. It’s not traveling too fast, so it’s possible for them to jump in, in theory, but they’d have to be careful not to fall afterwards or step on the wrong foothold and slip.

She adjusts the pack on her back just as the front of the train reaches them, the wind pushing them back with the force of it all.

“C’mon!” she screams at Lexa who’s staring with steel, calculating eyes at the train. Clarke starts running beside the massive machinery, looking for an open wagon. She hears Lexa’s boots against the gravel behind her.

Finally, she spots one open, a few feet behind them. She looks at Lexa and sees her nod.

Once the wagon is close enough to Clarke, she jumps and lunges her body into the small opening. She manages to get her upper body inside, her stomach hurting as it knocks against the edge of the wagon. For a split moment of panic, she doesn’t find anything to hold onto and feels her body slipping back to the ground. She throws her bag inside and starts grasping until her fingers find the metal wall. She grips it tightly and throws her feet up and over the edge.

Once she’s inside she immediately turns to the door where Lexa’s still running beside the train. She looks up at Clarke, and Clarke nods, reaching out with her arms. Lexa throws her rucksack at her and then closes the distance with the train.

She grabs one of the handles along the outside walls of the wagon and for a moment Clarke thinks Lexa’s arm will rip out of its socket with the velocity and force of the train, but she immediately jumps up, one of her boots landing right on the edge of the opening. Clarke instinctively leans down and grabs Lexa’s arms, pulling her in.

But Clarke’s foot slips as she steps back and she falls, landing on her back, and pulling Lexa down with her. They stay motionless for a moment, neither of them even breathing. The rumbling of the train’s ever-moving parts as the only distraction from the heavy breathing and wide eyes.

As she lays on the floor, the only thing Clarke’s brain can process is the feel of the cold wood against her back, the roar of the blood pulsing through her body, and the tingle of adrenaline that attacks her limbs. She feels Lexa’s hot breath against her neck but can’t quite concentrate on anything but the fact that they just jumped onto a _fucking moving train_.

Apparently Lexa’s in the same kind of shock because, when Clarke finally looks up at her, she sees her eyes as big as plates, her pupils dilated in the dim light, staring down at her, her mouth half parted.

Clarke swallows and just then notices she’s got her arms around Lexa’s waist. And Lexa’s hands are pressed against the floor at both sides of her head, holding her up.

Lexa clenches her jaw before silently pushing herself up. She offers Clarke her hand and, as they touch, Clarke feels tingles intensifying in the tip of her fingers. Lexa keeps on holding her hand even when Clarke’s already standing on her own two feet, not that Clarke’s complaining. She feels her heart race and a small smile creep up her face as she sees Lexa’s suddenly relaxed features studying her own. Her eyes are hooded and her mouth half-opened, her puffy lips curled up only slightly at the corners. She looks beautiful and Clarke somehow knows she’ll remember this, remember this Lexa, for the years to come. Whatever is their fate, weather they make it to L.A. in one piece or not, she knows she’s doomed to have the image of beautiful, relaxed, chest heaving with excitement, Lexa with a purple nose and swollen eyes imprinted in her mind’s eyes for life.

“You should probably call that ‘someone’ to pick up the car” notes Clarke, her voice softer than she intended, when it’s clear Lexa isn’t about to let go of her hand anytime soon (Again, not that she’s complaining, but she knows how much that car means to Lexa and she doesn’t want to see it stolen).

Lexa seems to wake up from her haze, her cheeks blushing slightly, and she reaches for her phone inside her jacket’s pocket, which is now laying on the wagon’s floor.

Clarke goes to fetch the bag they had just thrown about and inspects the wagon. It’s full of crates, most of them marked with ‘Atom Industries, Nashville’.

She looks back at Lexa, who’s got the phone to her ear, and says “The train’s headed for Nashville”

Lexa nods before turning around and speaking softly into the phone.

After a few sentences, though, her voice becomes harsher. She seems to be arguing with someone and Clarke feels rather awkward so she decides on sitting down on the edge of the train car, her feet dangling off, and her shoulder leaning against the open door’s frame. She thinks, again, how dangerous it is to do so, how reckless, but she brushes it off, the thought _‘I just jumped onto a mutherfucking moving train’_ still pretty much present in her mind. Her mother’s face pops into her brain then, along with a series of worried words about safety and what would happen if she fell, but that, too, is hurriedly pushed out of Clarke’s mind. _Abby isn’t here anymore. She can’t control me. She can’t judge. And she certainly can’t comment on whatever the fuck I decide to do with my life_.

Instead, she looks at the cars passing by, at the clear blue sky, so uncharacteristic for an early November day. At the trees and fields that spread as far as the eye can see. At some point, the train takes a turn, separating itself from the highway and heading south.

A few minutes later Lexa sits down beside her, her phone in her hands.

“Who did you call?” asks Clarke. She’s surprised, again, at how soft her voice sounds. Somewhere between having Lexa on top of her and now, her heart has calmed down, the adrenaline left her body, and she feels a sense stillness and serenity fill her insides.

“Lincoln. He has a key to the car and I left him a letter explaining everything last night” says Lexa, staring at the landscape, her brow slightly furrowed. Clarke looks down and notices her hands fidgeting slightly with the phone, turning it around her slim fingers, grasping it tightly only to release it a second later. Clarke vaguely wonders what it would feel like to have Lexa play with her hands like she plays with her phone.

“He sounded angry” she comment, looking away and blushing slightly at the thought of her hand in Lexa’s.

Lexa chuckles “He was mainly angry because I didn’t tell him sooner, or said goodbye. And because I woke him up so early in the morning”

Clarke laughs with her.

“So, did you have any other messages?”

She points a finger towards Lexa’s phone and Lexa’s hands stop immediately. Clarke sees her whole body tense and, after a brief moment, she shakes her head.

“No”

***

**Wednesday the 1 st of November, 01:57 PM. Nashville, Tennessee.**

The slight change of the train’s speed is all it takes to wake Lexa up. She’s confused, for a moment, but when her eyes find the sun-kissed hair, half blown over it’s owner’s shoulder by the wind, she relaxes a little. She still sits up, though. She’s sure that if they’re still there when they reach the station then they’ll probably be reported to the police.

“Clarke, we should jump before the train reaches the station” she says, turning to look at the blonde. Her voice comes out uncharacteristically crooked from sleep.

Clarke looks back at her from her spot on top of one of the cranes closer to the door and nods. She’d sat there, looking out, a few minutes before Lexa went to sleep, about two hours ago. It appeared as if she hadn’t moved an inch since.

“Yeah, probably a smart idea” her voice, too, sounds croaked and husky which make’s Lexa’s stomach tingle.

Clarke stands and goes to pick up her things. Lexa follows and then they approach the opening on the wagon.

Lexa feels Clarke’s hand close around hers and squeeze. She fights the smile that threatens to appear in her face.

“Welcome to Nashville” says Clarke winking at Lexa. An excited smile appears in her face right before she jumps out, pulling Lexa with her.

The impact makes Lexa’s sore body hurt more than ever. She can literally feel all her joints tremble and explode in pain. She lands on her feet but immediately lets go of Clarke’s hand and drops to her side in order to spare her legs of all the force. Of course that means her shoulder gets to crash against the ground. Yay.

Lexa groans in pain, closing her eyes and sucking in a shallow breath, turning on her back. She hears some ruffling beside her but her head hurts too much for her to care. After a few agonizing moments, something shields the sun that was previously shining against her eyelids. She opens one eye and is met by Clarke’s concerned face mere inches from hers.

“You alright Lexa?”

Lexa nods once and lays her head back on the dirt.

“Just let me lie here for an hour or two and I’ll be alright” she murmurs.

Clarke lets out an airy laugh and then kicks her leg lightly.

“C’mon Lex, I’m hungry. We gotta get something to eat or else I’ll have to eat you”

Lexa blushes slightly before pushing herself onto her elbows and looking around. Her rucksack’s lying a few feet away, Clarke’s stuff nearby too.

“C’mon” Clarke steps closer to Lexa and offers her her hand.

Lexa takes it and Clarke pulls her up.

***

**Wednesday the 1 st of November, 02:04 PM. Washington D.C.**

Abby wakes up with a massive headache. She looks around her room and, when she spots the aspirin and glass of water in her nightstand. She reaches for it, sighing thankfully.

She swallows the aspiring and drinks all the water. Her throat’s still dry, though, so she gets out of bed and heads for the bathroom. The silence in the house, the same that has ruled over ever since Clarke started staying over at her friend’s houses, makes her insides clench and her fingertips buzz with nervousness.

It makes her uneasy and sad. She wishes she could rewind time, take back every bad thing she’s ever told Clarke and, instead, tell her good, encouraging things. Tell her the exact words that’ll make her see that she’s in the right without hurting her.

But that’s not how things work.

And now she’s left here with an empty house and an even emptier heart.

The first thing she sees once she crosses the threshold is the vanity mirror and, in it, her face. She looks awful. Her hair’s all messed up and her make-up’s undone. There’s a few hickeys peaking over her shirt’s collar and she shakes her head, a smile, playful smile curling her lips, at the thought of the person putting them there the night before. They’d been dating, officially, for two weeks now. Abby meant to tell Clarke, but had waited for the right time. _With all this fighting,_ she thinks, _there’s gonna be a lot of waiting ahead._

She sighs.

Of course, Clarke takes after Jake on this. They’re both stubborn as a mule. It was one of the things she loved about Jake, but, in Clarke, it just feels like too much of a reminder of what she can’t have anymore. Of what she can’t touch, can’t kiss, can’t hear, and can’t feel. And of course that bisexual nonsense of hers doesn’t help much. _Jake was okay with it,_ a small voice whispers in her brain. But then again, she counters, Jake was okay with a hell lot of other things that she disagreed on. They were good, that way. Always arguing, making sure that whatever they were doing was being done with all the perspectives possible. But not on this. She wasn’t going to give in on this. No matter how much Jake had pressed her back then, or how much Clarke wants to argue about it now. Abby knows, in her heart, that it is wrong. It’s unnatural. She just has to endure and defend her point until Clarke comes around. Although she does regret calling her all those things. But she just can’t seem to control herself when it comes to matters like protecting her daughter, even if it means hurting her a little. It’s better than letting her go down this path of self-destruction the young Griffin has set out for herself.

After a few more moments of thoughtful observation, Abby pours herself another glass of water and decides on calling Clarke’s phone one last time.

***

 **Wednesday the 1 st of November, 02:34 PM. Nashville, Tennessee**.

They end up in the first Diner they find. Which also happens to be the ‘Best Diner in all Tennessee!’ as the poster says.

Lexa seriously doubts the poster tells the truth.

They enter the almost empty establishment and Lexa’s spirits sink a little. It smells weird. Like donuts, coffee, and a stack of hay that’s been too many days under the crushing sun. not the best smell for a Diner.

They sit down just as Lexa’s stomach growls for the fifth time since they jumped from the train.

Clarke laughs at it and picks the menu, hiding behind it once Lexa glares at her. She doesn’t seem to be affected by the smell of the place.

“Oh!” she says after a few seconds of skimming the worn-out pages of the menu “they serve breakfast all day!”

“So?”

“My favorite food is pancakes” explains Clarke “Blueberry Pancakes”

“Well Hello there, y’all! I’m Peter and I’ll be serving you today!” Interrupts a cheery voice with a clearly southern accent, beside them, making them both turn in surprise. The owner of the voice, a tall, lanky boy with a tattoo of a flower in his arm, a rather large group of spots in his forehead, and shaggy, jet black hair, stands with an apron over his clothes and a notepad in his hands, along with a pen he’s currently chewing in.

“Hello” says Lexa, not taking her eyes off the menu.

The boy, Peter, stares at her, his eyes growing in horror.

“What happened to you?” he asks immediately.

Lexa tenses, her shoulders pulling back and her back straightening a little for a second, before she looks up and says “You should see the other guy”

Lexa’s voice sounds confident and even a little humorous but Clarke immediately notices the small quiver at the end and it makes her stomach stir and her nerves buzz.

Lexa offers Peter a confident smile and Peter returns it, still rather unsure. He shakes his head once and then his cheery smile returns.

“Can I get you anythin’ for the pain? I’ve been punched like that before, believe me, it’s not something I’d recommend”

“Sure” answers Lexa, looking back down at her menu. She wants nothing more than to get this nosey kid off her back and some food on her belly.

“Great. So, what are we eating today?” He asks, finally turning to Clarke. The change in his expression is impressively visible. If he was cheery before, now he’s down right spitting sunshine out of his eyes. His jaw literally drops open a little and he slurs the end of his sentence. For some reason, the way he stares at Clarke makes Lexa’s skin crawl. _Okay,_ now _she really doesn’t like the nosey kid. Can’t the sucker be a little bit more respectful of Clarke? He’s serving them, for fuck’s sake._

“I’ll have a bacon burger and some water” says Lexa, her voice laced with venom. Peter doesn’t even spare her a glance as he writes the order down, without taking his eyes off of Clarke for a single moment. Lexa rolls her eyes, gripping her fists, and turns to look at Clarke, her eyebrow raised “you Clarke?”

“Pancakes” says Clarke, thoughtfully inspecting her menu “Blueberry Pancakes with a raspberry smoothie”

Peter writes it all down and, after offering Clarke the flirtiest smile Lexa has ever seen in a kid as young as him, he turns and strolls back towards the kitchen. Not without looking back to them at least three times during the short way there, of course.

Lexa scoffs and Clarke immediately gives her a puzzled look.

“Something wrong Lex?” she asks.

Lexa shrugs, not sure about how to present her hateful thoughts about the waiter to Clarke.

“It’s nothing, Clarke” she says, looking around and trying to distract herself. _It’s just a silly boy. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Just ignore him and he’ll go away._

“So” Clarke looks around “Best Diner in all of Tennessee. I wonder if they have a map to the rest of the city. I’ve never visited Tennessee before”

“Neither have I” says Lexa “but we’re not here on vacations, Clarke. Our main priority should be getting to L.A. as fast as we can, since our money’s very tight”

Clarke pouts and tries her puppy eyes at Lexa, who only rolls her own before looking away. After a few seconds of intense stare, though, Clarke sees Lexa blushing and she knows she’s already won.

“Lex” she murmurs, leaning in closer, her elbows propped on top of the table, her face resting on her hands. She rapidly blinks a couple of times when Lexa steals a glance at her and Lexa’s blush deepens.

Clarke smiles.

“Okay!” says Lexa, finally looking at her. Clarke grins, sitting back with a victorious whoop as she raises her arms and fists the air.

“But nothing that will cost money” warns Lexa, her lips curling up slightly at the sight of Clarke’s smile. Clarke knows she’s trying her hardest not to grin so that makes her half-smile that much more rewarding.

She likes seeing that smile.

Clarke rolls her eyes. Of course Lexa would worry about the money.

“Come on Lexa. Don’t worry, we’re free now, don’t you wanna enjoy your freeness?”

“I think you mean freedom, Clarke. Because I’m not sure ‘freeness’ is an actual word”

“Of course it is, I just said it”

“Not because you say a word makes it into an actual one”

“Yes it does”

“No it doesn’t, Clarke”

“Yes it does, _Lexa_ ”

“No, _Clarke_ ”

“Yes, _Lexa_ ”

“ _Clarke_ ” Lexa raises an eyebrow at her, an unamused look in her face. Though Clarke can see traces of a faint smile dancing over her heavy lidded eyes.

“ _Lexa_ ” counters Clarke, smiling provocatively and raising her own eyebrows, challenging Lexa to continue arguing with her.

“Food’s ready!” the voice, again, makes them turn in surprise, pulling them out of their little bubble. They both lean back, only then realizing how close they had started to get to each other.

Peter’s approaching with a tray overflowing with things. Clarke immediately smiles and hums in expectation. _God, those pancakes look good._

Peter laughs lightly as he notes Clarke’s reaction, and says “Hungry, aren’t we?”

Lexa unconsciously mocks him, muttering his words under her breath. She sees Clarke shoot her a confused and cross look but Lexa only shrugs. Peter’s too busy setting the things on the table to pay any attention to the staring contest the two girls have started.

Finally, Peter finishes and clears her throat. Clarke immediately looks away from Lexa and to Peter.

“Here you go” he smiles down at Clarke and Clarke returns it even more cheerily. Lexa’s neck boils and she clenches her jaw.

“Oh, I almost forget” he says, jumping a little and then reaching into his apron’s pocket and pulling out a packet of aspirins. He pops one down on Lexa’s napkin and then smiles briefly at her. But Lexa sees it’s just a polite smile. Then, of course, he turns back to ogling all over Clarke.

Lexa stops herself before she mocks him this time, though she still makes a face at her burger.

“Thank you” says Clarke.

“Ah, it’s no problem”  he says, smiling one more time at Clarke, who returns it politely, and, after what Lexa’s sure was a wink, he walks back towards the kitchen.

Lexa scoff before reaching down to grab her burger.

“Okay Lex” says Clarke, making Lexa look up before she even gets a chance to touch the burger “What’s bothering you?”

Lexa tries hard not to roll her eyes. Okay yeah, _maybe_ she’s a little jealous of the attention Peter’s giving Clarke, and angry at the disrespectful stares, and the fact that Clarke accepts it is straight out outrageous. But not even Lexa’s as dense as Clarke’s being right now. And Clarke is not the dense one.

“Nothing” she says more intently, looking down and picking her burger up before Clarke gets another word out.

She hears Clarke sigh.

“If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine. But don’t be a grumpy ass later when you wanna talk to me, ‘cause I’ll treat you just like you’re treating me now”

Lexa looks up for only a second before saying “Fair enough”

She hears Clarke huff in frustration at her failed tactics and smiles into her burger.

***

They eat in silence after that.

It isn’t an awkward one, though. And, as much as Clarke tries, she can’t stop catching herself as she admires Lexa’s face, her hands, her lean, toned arms (she had disposed of her leather jacket the moment they entered the Diner, fact Clarke was very grateful for), her grey-green eyes shining in the clear light pouring in from the large windows to their left, her curly, wild hair, her slim fingers, her high cheekbones, and her puffy, totally kissable, lips.

She can’t stop her eyes from wandering, her teeth from capturing her own lips and biting, and her thoughts from flying away the moment Lexa catches her eyes on her and that small, half-smile curls up her lips, forcing a gigantic one from Clarke.

Of course, in those moments, her eyes will look away, a slight blush tinting her cheeks and a sheepish look covering her face.

But, sadly, lunch can only last for so long and, once both plates are empty along with both glasses, the two girls lean back and smile at each other.

Clarke sighs and says “I don’t know about the rest of Tennessee, but these pancakes were pretty damn good”

“Agreed” smiles Lexa.

“Well, thank you!” for the third time, Peter’s cheery voice surprises them and Clarke wonders briefly how he manages to sneak up on them like that. Or maybe she was just paying a little bit _too much_ attention to Lexa to notice him approach. Whatever.

He picks up the plates and Clarke immediately reaches out to help him, placing her plate on Peter’s tray. Peter smiles at her and Clarke returns it. He’s got such a cute smile, with the dimples and all. She could just reach out and squish his cheeks like those old grannies in the movies do. But she doesn’t, of course, ‘cause they’re in public and it would probably be considered harassment or something.

“Need anything else?” he asks, straightening his apron and smiling at them.

“No” says Lexa rather abruptly, before forcing a smile at Peter that more resembles a grimace that what Clarke’s sure Lexa was going for. _What the hell’s up with this girl? Why is she being so mean?_

“The bill would be fine” she continues without looking at Clarke, her tone sharp and stark.

Peter looks away from Clarke for a moment to spare Lexa a look and, after frowning slightly, he says “Well, of course. I’ll be right back”

After watching Peter’s retreating figure, Clarke turns to Lexa.

“What?” asks the brunette, seeing her frown and her pursed lips and knowing there was something Clarke wanted to say to her.

“You’re being mean to him” decides Clarke.

“No I’m not”

“Yes, you are Lexa”

“Am not” She says playfully.

“Lexa” _Why does playful Lexa come out in the worst possible moments when she’s trying to be serious with her? Why couldn’t she come out back in the train, when they were relaxed and happy?_

***

Lexa clenches her jaw, not yet ready to admit she’s jealous.

“I don’t like him” she offers instead.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t”

Clarke’s frown deepens but just then, Peter’s walking back to them, the bill in his hands, so she looks away.

“Here you go” he places it on the table between them and, after a brief glance, Clarke reaches for her backpack, sitting on the booth beside her. She pulls out the wallet where she keeps half of the money (the other half is safely tucked inside Lexa’s rucksack) and pulls out the amount needed and places it on the table.

“There you go” she says, smiling up at the boy as she feels Lexa’s eyes burning holes in her face.

Peter smiles at her and Clarke wonders if she’s ever seen a brighter smile than his. How does he do it? Of course, nothing could compare itself with Lexa’s smile when they were laying on her couch, but he’s sure a close second. After that, he turns and heads to the cashier.

Clarke’s about to pick up on their interrupted conversation when Lexa beats her to it, saying “We should better find a place to stay before doing any sightseeing”

Clarke, a little confused on the sudden change in topic, nods “Finding a motel it is” After a pause, she adds “And then we’ll go sigh-seeing, and you’re coming with me, like it or not”

Lexa shakes her head, a small smile creeping slowly up her lips.

 _I could get used to this,_ Clarke thinks for a moment, _with Lexa, just having fun, care-free and young. No worries except for finding a suitable place to eat or sleep. She could do this_. They _could do this_.

Peter’s soon back with the check and Clarke’s mood slightly quivers. She’s afraid Lexa’s smile will fall back to a frown with his arrival, and she’s not wrong. Though she’s determined not to let this whole ordeal get to her. By now, she’s already discovered it’s got something to do with Peter, she’s not that blind. But what with Peter, that she ignores completely. He’s just the sweetest boy she’s ever met with a smile that could light up a small town.

Wait. Light up a small town… she’s thought that before… Oh. _Oh._ Cammie. The freshman that was hitting on Lexa. The freshman that made Clarke so jealous she… she lashed out. Just like Lexa was right now.

Oh my God. Was Lexa actually jealous?

“Ok so, here it is” he smiles and hands Clarke the check. Clarke sees his cheeks are slightly tinted and he’s bouncing in the balls of his feet.

“Thanks” says Clarke, examining the piece of paper in her hands.

“Hope you have a good day, y’all” says Peter before turning on his heels and leaving them, glancing back at Clarke every few steps. He didn’t even look at Lexa, who was fuming at him by now, once.

***

Lexa waits a few seconds for Clarke to look up from the bill. When she doesn’t, she asks “What it is?”

Instead of saying anything, Clarke passes Lexa the paper, smiling slightly as her cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

Right at the bottom, after all the information, there’s a number scribbled in blue pen along with a small heart and the words ‘ _Call me – Peter’_.

Lexa’s chest immediately starts grumbling, her whole face, neck, and ears turning red with anger.

_He had the audacity to…_

She’s about to explode but, instead, she lets out a harsh laughter and looks up at Clarke’s pink face. She won’t let Clarke see she’s affected by him. She won’t let her know she’s actually jealous of such a petty, little boy.

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“He gave me his number” Clarke’s voice sounds something between amusement and realization.

Lexa cock up an eyebrow at her, her anger dissipating a little at the sight of Clarke’s cuter-than-a-bunny-sleeping-on-a-large-dog’s-back-video face.

“I can see that, Clarke” and Lexa knows her words sound rather bitter, but she tries to mask them with a smile.

She’s still angry at him, but Clarke’s face tells her that maybe she wasn’t as into his flirting as he was. Maybe Clarke _is_ as dense as Lexa herself. At least on certain kinds of situations, that is.

“Why?” mutters Clarke under her breath.

It truly surprises Lexa. _Why? Why wouldn’t he? Why would anyone_ not _what to be with you?_

It suddenly hits Lexa. She doesn’t know at what point did her mind change to mirror her heart, but now she is sort of… sort of fine with her feelings for Clarke.

She isn’t really ready to admit anything, though. Not even close. Everything’s all still too fresh. They have only left home the night before. But with time… Yes, with time, maybe thing could be better. Maybe even…

“Generally, People give each other their phone numbers to stablish a connection, Clarke” Lexa smiles this time, a true smile.

Clarke looks up like she’s surprised Lexa answered her whispered question.

“Yeah no, that wasn’t what I didn’t understand, though thanks for the informative answer Lex” counters Clarke “I just… he’s, what? Fourteen? Isn’t he a little young?”

Lexa burst out laughing, relief filling her chest. Okay, she’s definitely safe now.

She stood up and Clarke blinked up at her.

“Let’s go Clarke” She says, still laughing lightly.

Clarke shakes her head for a moment before following suit, picking her things, and making her way behind Lexa and out of the Diner without even sparing a look at Peter, who’d been spying them from the front counter ever since he left their table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you enjoyed, remember to leave comments and kudos :) if not, that's okay too, everyone's got their own opinions. Anyways, have a lovely day/night and hope something cool happens to you soon... Bye!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestion, just message me


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